


Mending Fences

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [22]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Tim takes a long lunch to try to mend fences with his father. It's a bit more exciting than lunch, someone takes a pot shot at the Admiral, now it's up to the Pod to figure out who and why.





	Mending Fences

Mending Fences

 

McGee looked up from his computer as Gibbs approached his desk. “Boss, Father asked me to have lunch with him. I’d like to go, if I can get off.”

Gibbs sat down at his desk and looked at his monitor. “All your paperwork done?”

“Yeah, just finished the last, and we’re off rotation for the rest of the day.”

“Okay, go. If we catch a case, I’ll text you the address and you get there when you can.”

Tim smiled happily. “Thanks, Boss. I’m hoping he’ll ... ease up on me some.”

Gibbs frowned. He hated the fact that Tim’s Admiral dad dismissed his job as “some sort of geek thing.” He was hoping that Tim and Admiral McGee could reconcile but he wasn’t going to put too much confidence in it until further notice. “Good luck with that.” His sarcasm was plain in his voice.

Tim grabbed his ruck ―you really couldn’t call it a go-bag― and trotted off.

AJ watched him go until he opened the stairway door. “Hope that works for him. He’s really sad that his father doesn’t recognize all his hard work.”

Remy shrugged. “He’ come ‘roun’. Heard good t’ings ‘bout the Admiral ... an’ bad. Hope more good dan bad in dis.”

Dean and Cos showed up just then and distracted the rest of the group with questions about the investigation.

.

Tim settled at the table that his father had reserved. He was a bit early, so he wasn’t worried about getting stood up, yet. He took a menu to look at while he waited.

It wasn’t long before the Admiral showed up dressed in service dress blues; the Navy version of a business suit. “Sorry I’m late. Jason McDonahue is a huge bag of hot air. I finally told him I was meeting you. He wasn’t that impressed. Jerk.”

Tim shrugged. “Some people are more impressed with their own importance than others are impressed by it. I deal with that all the time. I swear, Master Chief Petty Officers are just about the worst.”

“And who would you say are the absolute worst?” John really was interested in his son’s answer.

“I’m not sure. LTJG’s are bad. They’re just far enough up the food chain that they’re really touchy about shit.” He glanced at the menu again. “What’s good here?”

“Steak ... Surf ’n Turf ... the salads aren’t bad, but ...” he eyed his son. “You look like you need a bit more meat on your bones, you okay?” He thought a second then asked, “And shouldn’t you be wearing blues?” referring to the Navy NWU or Naval Working Uniform.

Tim grinned, it felt good to realize that his Father really was concerned, he could tell by the look in his eyes. “Yeah. I just let my weight get away from me a bit. Jet’s pissed. AJ’s practically force-feeding me.” He realized his father needed a bit more information. “I’m not cutting back on the exercise, so I need more calories.” He shrugged. “Vance has decided that we can wear either Blacks or Coyote A-TAC’s but not blues or current MARPAT. That way we’re not confused with enlisted.”

“I see. You should have the ... share a Porterhouse with me?” At Tim’s ‘Sure. Sounds good,’ he continued, “Baked potato with sour cream and butter. Steamed mixed veg with just salt and pepper? And how can you burn up enough calories to look starved?”

Tim shrugged. “Sounds good. Just-rare steak?” John nodded. “I run 15 to 20 miles a week, depending on the weather. Swim another 10 to 15. Lift weights three times a week, working on strength rather than bulk. And do an hour of Tai Chi and an hour of yoga at least three days a week. That’s on top of the shooting to keep up my quals and all the running around on investigations and what not.”

John looked impressed. “You’re out in the field?”

“Yeah. I am not a desk jockey, no matter what you think.” Tim frowned at the menu to keep from getting snappish.

“Yes. um ... I had a man look into things. And I read his report carefully. There wasn’t any mention of you being in the field. Only glowing descriptions of your computer skills.” John frowned at the Host who scurried forward. “We’d like to order. Send our waiter over, please”

The waiter showed up, apologizing for making them wait but admitting he hadn’t expected them to make up their minds so quickly.

“That’s fine, son. We’re just men of action.”

Tim waited while his father ordered for them. He was pleasantly surprised that he remembered that shrimp cocktail was one of his favorites.

“So, you’re a field agent? I know ... I’m ashamed that I don’t know this. I was always so invested in you following family tradition that I never thought ... and that sea sickness, it’s really some sort of inner ear thing?”

“Yeah. Tradition is good, but not when it’s not good for the person. Tradition can show you a way to go and help open doors ... or it can be a straight jacket. In my case it’s the latter. And it is an inner ear condition. I forget what it’s called, but Ducky diagnosed me. It’ll never go away. Crackers and apples with ginger beer help; I just tough it out as best I can. I actually got sent ashore one time. I got dehydrated and passed out. Scared AJ and Jet into fits. I couldn’t even keep sugar water down.”

John McGee looked impressed. “It takes days for that to happen. I’d have thought you’d head for shore sooner.”

“I couldn’t. Matter of National Security that ... I don’t think your clearance is high enough. Sorry.”

“I’m cleared for Top Secret.” John looked indignant. 

“I’m cleared for Top Secret too. But, as you know, there’s Top Secret, then there’s Top Secret.” You could hear the underline in his voice. Tim leaned back to let the waiter put his shrimp cocktail in front of him. “Thank you.”

John did the same then returned to their conversation saying, “I know. There’s a list floating around out there.” He chuckled softly. “It’s not official, but it works. There’s Top Secret, Extra Top Secret, Super Top Secret, and Burn Before Reading, Shoot Yourself In the Head After.”

Tim snorted. “I’ve heard AJ say that. I’m in the Super Top Secret bunch.”

John blinked then said, “I’m only Top Secret. Damn.” He bit a shrimp in half, chewed then asked, “I hear you’re considered one of the best hackers. I’m not even sure what that is.”

Tim poked at his cocktail for a moment, selected a shrimp then nibbled on it while he decided what he should ―or could― say. “Okay, basically, a hacker is someone who can break into a computer, server farm, or some other computer-based something ... without passwords, going around, through, or breaking firewalls and ... you don’t care about details.” Admiral McGee shook his head. “It’s either highly illegal, or very desirable. Or both. And that’s why my clearance is so high. I hack computers for NCIS. Mostly computers owned by either dead people, or criminals, which contain classified data.”

“I see.” He ate another shrimp. “I heard some scuttlebutt about a ... person who hacked ... an alphabet. One of those so top secret things. Interesting, in and of itself, but ...” he trailed off.

Tim nodded. “I heard the same thing. Seems that ... that alphabet… was blocking an investigation by ... another alphabet. Treason is treason, whether it’s committed by ... an operative or a civilian. No matter who pissed in whose ...” he waved a shrimp, “whatever.”

“I see. So ...” John had his answer. Tim hadn’t committed himself to anything and John wasn’t about to make him. Hacking the CIA was sure to piss them off, no matter who you were or why you did it. He had a quiet snicker to himself then turned the conversation to other, more comfortable subjects.

As he searched for a new subject his eyes fell on Tim’s ruck. “You carry a full ruck?”

“Yeah. You never know what you’ll need. Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.” Tim finished his last shrimp.

John eyed the ruck. “How much does that weigh?”

“Mmm. About forty-five ― fifty pounds. Not what I’d carry into a combat zone ... for that I’d add ammo, more food, water, and clothing ... but I actually use most of the stuff in there now on every crime scene. Plus a med kit, extra laptop, and some survival stuff. Mostly ... well, three MRE’s, water, water purification tabs, trail mix ... that sort of thing. And I’ve needed every bit of it at one time or another.” 

John frowned, “I just ... you have no idea what a shooting war is like, so I don’t understand this ...” he waved a hand.

Tim didn’t let him get any farther. “Well, I’ve never been in combat overseas, but I’ve been shot at, shot, stabbed, blown up, and beaten. So ... no. You don’t get to go there.”

John’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Oh, and I forgot. Plane crash. Survival in the wilderness and ...” he grinned. “Stakeouts with AJ. Man’s a lunatic.”

John sighed. “Seems I’m really off base. Ah!”

The steak arrived just then, with two plates and the sides on their own little plates. Tim eyed the salad and said, “Take that back. The lettuce is brown, the tomatoes are dried out and ... never mind a critique, just get it out of my sight.” He wasn’t rude about it but he was very firm.

John eyed his salad and agreed. “He’s right. Just take it off the bill. I don’t think you’ll be able to do any better a second time around.”

The waiter flushed heavily, snatched the plates up and scurried off. After some consultation with the manager, he returned to offer free desserts. Tim agreed, asking for apple pie with ice cream. John declined, patting his belt, “No thanks. Got to watch the ol’ waistline.”

While the waiter had been talking with the manager, John had taken it upon himself to cut the steak in half, put one half on a plate for Tim and take the other for himself. Tim was pleased to see that his father had cut the eye in half and given each of them a part. Some people would cut the eye off then cut off a smaller piece of the opposite side. John had cut the tenderloin off, cut it in half then cut the New York Strip in half as well.

“Thank you. This looks delicious.” He refrained from mentioning the steamed veg, which looked tired.

They each cut into their steak, took a bite and chewed. Tim nodded happily. “Mmmm. Really good.”

John agreed. “They might not do veggies or salads well, but their steaks are the best.”

Tim disagreed. “You haven’t tasted Gibbs’ cowboy steaks. They’re ... melt in your mouth. He has a huge cast iron skillet. Heats it up red hot, throws in the steaks then puts butter on top of them. When he turns them over he pours beer on them then shuts the grill. Three minutes a side then another five. Perfect.”

“Sounds like a real winner.” 

They continued to eat in near silence, only remarking on the food from time to time. This didn’t bother either of them as they were both trained not to talk with their mouths full and not to let good food go cold over gossip.

Tim suddenly realized something. “Where’s your entourage? I thought you had ... staff.”

“I do. But I sent them to a different restaurant down the street. We don’t need them. Besides, my staff isn’t big enough to properly be an entourage. I’ve got an assistant, a secretary and a couple of body guards.”

Tim thought about that one. “Why an assistant and a secretary?”

“My Assistant keeps all my appointments straight, keeps my contacts up to date and makes sure I don’t double book. My Secretary keeps up with all my communications, paper letters, reports, email ... that sort of thing. Makes sure I read what I should, get summaries of other things and that I’m not bothered by people who want me to do their jobs for them because they’re too limp-wristed to do the job themselves.”

“I see. Should you have sent them so far away?” Tim worried about that a bit. 

“Yes. I’ll be fine. I’ll call before we get ready to leave and have my car brought around,” John nodded once.

“Okay.” Tim wasn’t sure he liked the arrangement, but figured his father ought to know what he was doing by now.

They finished their meal, dessert included. Tim unashamedly pigged down John’s apple pie a la mode as well as his own. “Thank you. That was very good.” Tim picked up his ruck and slung it over one shoulder.

John eyed that for a moment then said, “You ought to put that over both shoulders properly, you’ll throw out your back.”

“I know. AJ’s always on me about it, but it’s a nuisance to put it on just to take it off again. Call your people, okay?” But he stuck his arm into the other strap and jiggled the ruck into position.

John made the call then said, “Five minutes.”

Tim followed him out the door to stand under the canopy to wait for his car. “I’ll stay with you until your car arrives.”

“You need a ride?”

“No, I came in my SUV.” Tim had finally bought himself an SUV; his Boxter was just too twitchy for the local winters. “Thanks.”

He moved out to the curb to look for the car. He was shocked to hear the ‘wheet’ of a bullet and feel the punch of one hitting his ruck. “Fuck! Everyone down! Now!” Everyone within ear shot hit the sidewalk or ran into a building… or just stood where they were and screamed. 

Tim grabbed his father, who had ducked and was hunched down to make as small a target as possible. He covered him, feeling another punch as a second bullet hit his back. 

John’s driver saw what was happening and actually drove the SUV onto the sidewalk, providing additional cover as he drove into the supports of the canopy making it collapse, shutting off the area completely.

Tim groaned but managed to cover his father and hustle him back into the restaurant. The two bodyguards hustled in right behind them, followed by the rest of the staff. 

When they got inside they were greeted by a crowd of looky-Lou’s and several people who insisted on leaving by that particular door. Tim took one look and blew up. “You! Get the fuck back inside. You! Lock the damn door.” He pointed first to the milling group of diners, then the maître d’ who hurried to lock the door. “Son of a fuckin’ bitch! I can’t believe it. Not again! AJ’s gonna go spastic!”

Then he dialed 911. “This is Timothy McGee, NCIS Badge 2140. I’ve got shots fired at this location. Do not respond ... I repeat, do not respond. Shots were aimed at Admiral John McGee. That makes this an NCIS case. If we need crowd control, we’ll call the non-emergency number.” He listened for a moment then said, “Two shots, both hit my ruck.” He then hung up, dialed NCIS and went through the whole thing again, this time he requested his team to come work the scene.

He realized that someone was pulling at his ruck, so he let them have it. He turned to find someone he didn’t know holding it. “What?”

“I’m one of Admiral McGee’s personal assistants, Captain Martin. I’ve got some EMT training. Where are you wounded?” The Captain looked concerned so Tim twitched his shoulders.

“I don’t think I am. I feel like someone took a fuckin’ bat to my damn back but ... I don’t ...” he jumped as the man poked his back. “Ow.”

“Well, let me see you.” 

Tim started to lift his shirt. A voice from the main room called, “Let me through, please. I’m a physician.” 

Tim recognized Brad Pitt’s voice and said, “Let him through.” He turned to Captain Martin. “It’s okay. That’s Dr Pitt. No offense to your skills but, if I don’t let him see me and AJ finds out, he’ll take me on the mats.”

The captain chuckled. “I’ve heard about Badger. And no offense taken.” He backed away to begin the task of rearranging the Admiral’s schedule.

Dr Pitt took a good look at Tim, checked his lung sounds and palpated his abdomen. “You’re okay. I’d like you to take it easy, but I know that’s not gonna happen until this is over. Just take it as easy as you can. Analgesics of choice as needed. Head for the ER if things go sideways. Now ... I need to get out of here. I didn’t see anything, don’t know anything, and I’m due in surgery in two hours.”

Tim pointed, “Go out the back door. Thanks.” He yanked his shirt back down just in time for Gibbs to charge in and take over, much to his relief.

AJ’s wild-eyed look faded, “Damn it, Tim, this is the second time you’ve gotten shot. I told you ... not. You been checked out?”

Tim nodded to AJ. “Hey. Yeah. Pitt gave me a once-over. Glad you’re here. Keep me from shootin’ the stupid.”

AJ shook his head. “You can’t shoot ‘em. It’ll just get you whispered about and pointed at. And think of the paper work. By the way, you’re fillin’ out the shot report.” He grinned and shook his head “So, what the Foxtrot Hotel?”

“Someone sniped my Father. Only I got in the way. So ... we need to find out whose damn whiskey he pissed in this time.”

Remy ambled over with a small screw of pills. “Candy. Take it.” He eyed Tim, shook his head and said, “Tol’ ya .. don’an get shot again. Bitch.”

Tim just popped the thing into his mouth and chewed. “Thanks. Jerk.”

Gibbs showed up looking pissed. “Damnit, Tim.” He glanced around, saw the Admiral, stomped over and dragged him into a side room and got him seated. “Okay. What the hell?”

John McGee rubbed his face with both hands. “I have no clue. I haven’t pissed anyone off lately. You’ll do better to talk to my assistant and secretary. I need to see Timothy.”

Gibbs glowered at John for a moment, assessing him; he realized that the man had no idea. “Go. Send in your men, check on Tim and make sure he doesn’t over-do.”

Admiral McGee left to find his son. Said son was found in the main dining room, sitting at a central table. The entire room was controlled chaos as several tables were being used to interview the few people who actually admitted to seeing anything. Tim was doing something with a computer and making faces. 

John sat down across from him. “Tim?” Tim looked up, grimacing as the motion made his blooming bruises twinge. “You okay? Really?”

Tim nodded. “I’m going to hurt like hell in a couple of hours, but my ruck absorbed most of the inertia. Ruined my damn laptop and my tablet, but AJ brought my backups with him. They took my whole ruck into evidence.” Tim returned to his computer for a moment then said, “Did you see anything at all?”

“No. I was texting when I heard the thud. I’m afraid I had no idea what I was hearing.” John actually fidgeted for a moment. “You sure you’re okay?”

Tim glanced up, realized that his father really needed reassurance. “I’m sure. First Dr Pitt, then an EMT looked me over ―whoever called them is a jackass― then Jimmy did. I’m fine. Just gonna be sore, just like last time. Only that was a .25 cal; this was more like a .30-.30 or something.”

“Jimmy? He’s a Medical Examiner.” John frowned.

“He’s also a medical doctor, and he’s taken EMT courses. He works the ER at Bethesda two shifts a week.” Tim returned to his computer. “Now ... I need to get this interview over with.” He rubbed his face, looking exhausted.

John settled down to the interview with a grumbled, “Okay, fine. But ... shouldn’t you be resting or something?”

Tim nodded. “Why do you think I want this done? I want to get back to NCIS, finish a Foxtrot Tango of paperwork, then take a nap in Abby’s lab. So ... Let’s please do this.”

John settled in then, answering all Tim’s questions. When they were done, Gibbs ambled by to say, “Tim, go the fuck home. We’ll wrap it up here. Ballistics seem to prove that the Admiral was the target. We’re still working on why. So go.” Tim just nodded, closed his computer and left, for NCIS. Gibbs turned to Admiral McGee. “You come up with a list of people you’ve pissed off enough to make them want to shoot you. E-mail it to Tim when you get it done. Might want to consult with your staff. Go.” He wandered off, consulting with someone who’d trotted up with a handful of papers.

Admiral John McGee was not an idiot, a fool in some ways, but not an idiot. He gathered up his staff and went back to his office to compile the list. He did think that his son was a bit officious and needed to back off a bit. After all, he was only a field agent, not a supervisor. 

.

Tim settled at his desk with a soft groan. He was sure he had at least one cracked rib, maybe two. But he didn’t have time to hurt just yet, he had to set up his searches. He wondered if he was going to have to get clearance to check out the Admiral; he didn’t even think of him as father anymore. He wondered when they’d gotten so disconnected. He ignored his phone in favor of getting things done.

Jimmy dropped by, handed him more candy and remarked, “Did good. Call me if you have trouble breathing. Do not pull an AJ. If you do, I’ll kick your ass.”

“It’s already kicked but I’ll be down in Abby’s lab as soon as I get this shit set up.” Tim clicked his mouse then got up. “On my way as I grumble.” He shouldered Jimmy. “Jerk.”

“Bitch. Rest ... or I’ll tell Jet.”

Tim moaned, “No, just no. I’m gone. Seriously. Bad enough Abby’s gonna pitch a fit.” He headed for the elevator, feeling every step.

The second he entered the lab Abby jumped him, figuratively speaking; she had learned her lesson with AJ. “Tim! You look like hell. Hug?”

“No, Abby, too sore. I came down to see if I can lay down on your futon for a bit. Getting shot in the ruck really hurts. And in more fuckin’ ways than one.” He leaned against the coolers as he waited for Abby to get her futon out. “That cock-sucking twat-waffle shot my new laptop and my fuckin’ tablet. When I get my hands on him, he’s ... I’m gonna fuck ‘im up good.”

Abby gave a squeak. “Well, it’s lucky that we backed everything up just yesterday. Shame about that laptop. You’ve only had it ... what? ... a week?”

“Not even that. Ordered it on Saturday, got it Tuesday, and this is only Thursday. I’m glad we set up Wednesday as a backup day.” He gave a shuddering sigh. “I really, really need down soon.”

Abby patted him on the shoulder. “I got it set up really nice for you. Need any help?”

“I ... think so. Thanks.” Tim let Abby help him to lay down; he was really beginning to stiffen up and even breathing hurt.

After helping Tim lay down, Abby watched Tim for a moment then decided. She went out into the outer office and called Gibbs. “Gibbs, Tim’s down here but he doesn’t look good. I think he’s going into shock. Should I call Ducky?”

Gibbs, a bit distracted by trying to get his TAD agent to start doing something useful, replied, “Do what you think is best. Abby ... I have to go. This ASVAB waiver desk jockey ... bye.” He hung up the phone and managed to stop the jackwad from crashing all Tim’s searches so he could check his e-mail. 

Abby, realizing that Gibbs probably hadn’t really listened to her properly, took matters into her own hands and called Ducky. Ducky listened carefully to her description of symptoms and said he’d be right there.

“Jimmy, dear boy, our Timothy doesn’t seem to be doing that well. Loan me your bag so I can check him out. You’ll have to stay here. I just got a call that we have a Marine on the way in. From the description it sounds like what we used to call heat stroke but best to make sure. Just sign for the poor man and tuck him away for now.”

Jimmy handed his bag over, saying, “If you need me, call.” He frowned for a moment but knew that Ducky would take good care of his friend. He resolved to check on Tim at the earliest opportunity.

.

Ducky tapped at the office door then opened it. Tim was half asleep on his stomach, a position he usually disliked. “Well, let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”

Before Ducky could kneel, Tim got up with a moan. “I’ll get up. It’ll be easier on both of us. Want me to sit on the desk?”

“No, no, dear boy, just remove your shirt and stand in the light.” Ducky put the medic bag down on Abby’s desk and turned. “Oh, dear. That’s quite the bruise. I do hate to poke at it but I need to see if you’ve got a broken rib. I’d love x-rays.”

“You do have that portable x-ray.” Tim stood while Ducky poked and prodded. 

“Does it hurt to breathe both ways? Or are you just stiff?” Ducky thought about the x-ray for a moment. “If I don’t like your lung sounds, I will have a picture.”

“It hurts both ways. I don’t feel that grinding sensation that AJ described. And, I’m stiff, hurts to move, and I really want to sleep.” Tim shifted uncomfortably as Ducky gave a bruise an exceptionally vigorous poke. “Ow.”

“I’m so sorry, dear boy. I would like to have a bit of a look-see via x-ray, if you don’t mind.” Ducky gave Tim an apologetic look.

Tim chuckled a bit then said, “And even if I do mind. Okay, let’s put a wheel under it and get ‘er done.”

Ducky nodded, “I’ll just drape your shirt over your shoulders. No need to struggle in and out of it. Come along.”

Tim obediently followed Ducky to the morgue and lay down on the table. Since the x-ray was set up to view corpses, he had to be flat on the table. Not that he minded, he hurt so bad now that all he wanted to do was be still.

Jimmy helped Ducky get everything in place then Ducky took his look. “Well, nothing is broken. You’ve got a cracked rib. I’ll give you some meds. No hugging, no lifting, no heavy exercise for the next four days. And I will have my eye on you, young man.” That was one of the few down sides to living with Ducky and Jimmy, they made sure both he and AJ stuck to doctor’s orders. “Come back in and I’ll take another look. I doubt you’ll have much trouble.” He gave Tim a sideoogle that said he’d better not, then turned to write out a prescription for some medications. “I’m not going to give you antibiotics unless you show signs of bronchial troubles. But I will give you some analgesics.” He scribbled then handed the scrip to Tim. “Fill that on the way home. I don’t have any samples to give you or I’d just do that. One of the consequences of being an ME.” He chuckled.

Everyone jumped when the Morgue doors banged open and Cosmo, Dean, and Remy all rushed in looking scared half to death. “Where is he? How bad? What the hell?” Remy’s voice bellowed over Dean and Cosmo, although they were loud enough.

Tim stood up.

Dean grabbed him. “What the fuck? Dude, what the hell? We agreed ... no more gettin’ fuckin’ shot. Jerk.”

Cosmo ran his hands over Tim’s shoulders and down his arms, demanding, “And what the holy fuckin’ hell are you doin’ in the damn morgue? Scare the shit out of us.”

Tim endured this for a moment, then yelled, “Gettin’ x-rays. Do not poke me. And who the fuckin’ hell sent you a damn half-assed text anyway?” 

Remy snarled, “That new guy.” A few choice swear words underlined everyone’s dissatisfaction with Team Gibbs’ new TDA.

A shrill whistle from Ducky brought them all to a standstill. “Now that I have your attention; he was shot, but the bullets didn’t penetrate his laptop. He’s badly bruised and very sore, so I’m sure he’d appreciate it if you didn’t jostle him too much. He’ll be fine. He just needs some rest, analgesics and fluids. Take him away, please.” He started to turn away then turned back to say, “And he’s in here because I have an x-ray. Cracked ribs are hard to tell from broken ones by palpation. Now take him away.”

Dean carefully tucked himself under Tim’s arm. “Okay. Here we go. Lean on me. Where are we going?”

Gibbs came in in time to say, “Home. Stay with him. Tim, I’ll call you when I know something. Do not come back to work tomorrow.”

“Ducky said ...” Tim trailed off at Gibbs’ glare.

“Don’t care. I said stay home. Ducky?” Gibbs turned to his friend.

“Well, Jet, I would really rather he stay home for a day or two. He can’t work this case. He’s too close to the principal.” Ducky eyed Dean for a moment. “Very well. Dean, you know what to do. If you have any questions before I get home, call me ... or Jimmy. Now take our patient home.” He made chicken-shooing motions. “Go.”

Dean, Cosmo and Remy took Tim away; he protested but was told, “No, dude, you’re fuckin’ shot. You can’t tell any of us it doesn’t fuckin’ hurt like a damn bitch. Stop tryin’ to ...” the rest faded away.

Gibbs turned to Ducky. “How bad ... really?”

Ducky handed Gibbs a finger of bourbon in a beaker. Gibbs tossed it back then settled on the edge of Ducky’s desk. Ducky sat as well and helped himself to a dram of his own. “He’ll be fine in a couple of days. He really is just badly bruised. That ruck he carries ... it took the two shots. They went through his MRE’s, his tablet, his laptop and a few other things according to him. He’s no more hurt than if someone got in a couple of good blows with a cricket bat,” he sighed.

Gibbs joined him in the sigh. “Damn, when I got the call ... I swear, no wonder I’m fuckin’ gray before my time. Nearly had a damn heart attack. And then I get there and he’s fuckin’ workin’ the damn scene. The idiot EMTs gave him a quick once-over, then the damn idiots let him refuse aid. I ought a’ smack him one for that.”

Ducky smirked a bit. “You think our AJ is going to let him get away with that? I’d say they’ll be on the mats the minute I clear Timothy for duty.”

“Damn straight he will. And I get what’s left over.” He rubbed his face, got up, and headed for the door. “I’m going back up and see what kind a’ mess that POG I’m lumbered with has fucked up now.” He trotted out, grumbling about agreeing to train the untrainable.

. 

Abby looked up as Dean came in with Tim’s pack in an evidence bag. “Digimon leave anything in here? We’re takin’ him home. And here’s his ruck.” He handed the bundle to Abby.

“No. He came down with nothing. He just wanted to lay down on my futon for a bit. He going to be okay?” Abby put the ruck on her evidence table and started wringing her hands. “He looked so bad.”

“He’ll be fine in a couple. Ducky said. Getting shot really takes it out of you.”

A voice from behind him made him turn on the defensive. “I suppose you know.”

Dean eyed the man for a moment then snarled, “I would. Who are you?”

“Special Agent Foggerty. I’m here for some results… if Dr Sciuto has them.” His sarcasm set Dean’s last nerve to twanging. 

Abby eyed him for a moment then ordered, “Dean, show that jackwad out. He’s on my ‘won’t-work-for-him’ list. Evidence is evidence and I won’t twist it to make it say what you want. It is what it is. And, if you bring me contaminated evidence then blame it on me, you’re really on my shit list. Out!”

Dean just chested the man and snarled, “Okay. You heard the doctor. Out. Respect the science, dude.”

“I’ll tell Director Vance ...” Agent Foggerty quailed at Dean’s hot glare.

“Please. Go tattle to Daddy, again, that Dr Sciuto won’t fudge the data for you. I dare you.” And with that, Dean grabbed the man by the arm and hustled him out of the lab. “Git.”

Abby’s ‘Thank you.’ followed him down the hallway. She’d had trouble with him from time to time, the last time Elmo Jones had tossed him out and she’d reported him to Cynthia. He was one of two agents that were always a thorn in her side.

She shook her head and turned to Tim’s ruck. She rummaged for a second then began bagging everything as evidence. His laptop and tablet got special treatment as she was hopeful of getting a bullet. She grumbled as she worked, “I swear. Look at this mess. What the ...” she held up something grasped in a pair of tweezers. “What the hell is this?” She tucked it into an evidence envelope, sealed and initialed it then went on. When she was done she checked everything in, logging it on a clip board and putting it all back into a box. “There. I’ll start with ... this.” She held up a baggie with a sliver of something. 

As Abby struggled with the bulk of Tim’s ruck, Tim was going to be even more pissed as she opened the MRE’s, drink mixes and trail mix bags. She knew there wasn’t anything there, but some jackwad, over-eager, over-achieving, DA would call all her work into question if she didn’t open every single thing and play with it. So she slogged through all the broken packages and grumbled.

.

Tim didn’t resist when Dean and Cosmo helped him into Tony’s huge Hummer. He hurt and he didn’t care who knew it.

“Ow. Cos, you ... ouch. Dean, take it easy.” Tim knew he was whining but he really didn’t care. Now that the adrenalin had worn off, he hurt.

Dean and Cos took his moaning stoically, mostly ignoring it. They got Tim home and into bed, gave him some more pills, and covered him up.

Dean patted his foot. “Go to sleep, you whiny bitch. You need anything ... here.” He put a small hand-held air horn on the nightstand. “Honk. Do not try to get out of bed by yourself.”

Cos nodded. “Seriously, man. Do not. You’ll just hurt yourself more. Sleep.”

They pulled down the shades and closed the curtains, leaving Tim in dim twilight. He managed to get comfortable and fall asleep.

Dean led Cos away hissing, “He better sleep. And ... man, I want a big piece of whoever shot him.”

Cos replied, “Well, they were shootin’ at his father, the Admiral.”

“I don’t care who the fuck they were shootin’ at. I care about who they hit. An’ that was some pretty shitty shootin’.” Cos bopped him on the shoulder. “Just sayin’. Grateful that that asswad can’t shoot.”

“Yeah. Better call AJ an’ see if he wants us in.” Cos dialed as he walked.

Tony answered his desk phone with, “DiNozzo. Speak.”

“Just want to know if you want one of us in. The other can stay here with Tim.”

“No. Both of you stay. I’d like one of you right in the room if Tim’ll tolerate it. Worried about his breathin’.”

“Okay. Gotcha. I’ll take first watch. Dean can make some sort of soup or somethin’ an’ bring it in?” He made the last a question. They’d all agreed that they were eating way too much take-out. It wasn’t the calories they were worried about, it was the quality of them. Greasy take-out just wasn’t the same as homemade anything.

“Great. Get a couple of loaves of half-baked out of the freezer and make up a pot of can soup. Thanks.” AJ hung up without saying good-bye.

Dean, who’d pressed his ear against the outside of the phone, just said, “Have to raid the freezer. Might have to send you out for something.”

Cos nodded. “Okay. I’ll go sit with Tim while you take inventory.”

“Great.” Dean headed downstairs to check the fridge, freezer, and pantry while Cos returned to Tim’s room to sit in his reading chair and fiddle with his tablet. 

.

AJ hung his phone up, rubbed his face, then snarled, “I want this asshole ASAP. I’ll tune him up like a violin.”

Gibbs, who was just as pissed as AJ, agreed. “Yeah. You get my left-overs.”

Ducky made both of them jump when he said, “I’ll help. However, I came up to report. Our laddie is just bruised and sore. I’ll give him another once-over when I get home.”

Gibbs nodded. “Okay. Good. I’m going back to the scene to redo the ballistics. Something isn’t setting well.”

AJ just picked up his pack. “I’m going too.”

“Okay. Bye, Duck. Let’s put a wheel under this bitch.” Gibbs headed for the elevator with his ruck over his shoulder, AJ nearly tromping on his heels.

AJ stopped just outside the door. “I’m takin’ my spotter stuff, it’s in my ... Hummer. Damnit, Cos and Dean took it to take Tim home in. Shit!”

Gibbs just smirked at him. “Mine is in my car ... which we are takin’ to the scene. Dumbass.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Jarhead.”

The string of insults left several people staring as they ambled down the sidewalk, bumping each other as they went.

They climbed into the car and headed out. 

AJ reached for the radio and got his hand slapped. “I’m not listenin’ to that shit you call music.”

AJ shook his hand and said indignantly, “You must have me confused with Abby. There’s a new Jazz station that I was gonna try.”

“Okay. My bad.” Gibbs turned his attention firmly back to his driving.

It took them nearly forty-five minutes to get back to the restaurant. Traffic was a mess; blocking off the streets around the area had tangled things so badly that traffic was at a crawl. The officers who were now directing it were dealing with a real mess. The traffic lights told drivers one thing, the officers another; most of them didn’t seem to understand that, if there was an officer on traffic control, you obeyed him, not the lights. The resultant confusion had led to several wrecks, which only added to the mess. Gibbs used his lights and siren liberally, as well as his horn and a few appropriate hand gestures which had nothing to do with ASL.

AJ held on with stoic calm. After one set of gestures he remarked mildly, “Not nice, Jet.”

Gibbs ignored him in favor of driving down the shoulder to bypass a line of vehicles at a light. His screaming siren and flashing lights kept the police off their backs, but several drivers in the line flipped them off. 

When they got to the restaurant, Gibbs set up his spotter’s scope, checked the diagram Tim had drawn, with help from Remy, and peered through it. “Okay ... check me.” 

Gibbs changed places with AJ, who also peered through the scope. He scribbled some numbers on a scrap of paper, eyed them, then handed them to Gibbs. He looked the equations over then nodded. “Think you’re right. Let’s go.”

The whole point of this was to find the nest. The PD had searched but come up empty. Tony was of the opinion that their man had based his search on the premise that their shooter had used a sniper rifle of some sort. Tony, due to the degree of damage done to Tim and his ruck, was more of the opinion that it was a hunting rifle. Not a .50, something smaller, American-made; perhaps a .30-.30 or .30-.06. They’d know as soon as Abby found a bullet. 

Gibbs took the time to call her. “Abby. Found a bullet yet?” He put her on speaker so AJ could hear too.

“Yeah. This is not a military round ... believe it or not, it’s a Winchester .30-.06. Bring in your search pattern to around 750 to 1000 yards. We are not looking at a sniper ... more like ... a hunter who’s a fairly good shot. Some jackwad got pissed at Admiral McGee and took a couple of pot shots at him. Dumbass ... stupid ... twat-waffle. When you get your hands on him, give him a good punch from me.” A ding from the background made her squeak. “I gotta go.”

Meanwhile, Remy was doing his bit by calling around to some of his friends at Quantico, the Pentagon, and a few satellite offices. He got an earful about the Admiral, none of it truly complimentary but none of it bad. He was well regarded concerning his attention to detail and duty, but disliked for his rigidity and penchant for hide-bound nit-picking. They did admit that he was good at his job. Remy finally prodded, “An’ dat bein’?”

“Oh, he’s budgetary oversight on some project or other, acquisitions. Top secret, so I’m not really sure. But, he’s been raising hell lately because whatever it is, is over budget and he’s takin’ it out of someone. They have to bring the project in on budget, on time, and he’s got a real eye on them to keep them from cutting corners ... the bitching is epic.”

“Well, that’s ... ver’ interestin’. Merci bien, copain. I owe ya.” Remy hung up then started trying to find out what the project was and who was running over budget.

Abby wandered up to see what was going on in the bullpen, only to realize that Remy was the only one there. “Where’s everyone?”

Remy leaned back in his chair. “Tim at ‘ome. Dean an’ Cos wit’ ‘im. Jet an’ AJ went back t’ th’ scene. Ballistics didn’t add up. So, they went t’ check themselves. I’m tryin’ t’ fin’ de spark.”

“Okay. An’ you’ve gone very Cajun, ami. Calm down. So, let me see what’s what.” Abby patted Remy on the shoulder then reviewed his work. “Okay. There’s no reason that you can’t review all this. You’ve got clearance but ... someone’s blocked all external searches ... which they aren’t allowed to do. And ... there!” Abby grinned at Remy. “Voilà.”

Remy nodded absently which Abby took with a cheerful snort. He disappeared into the mass of numbers and Abby went back to her lab.  
.

Tony, Gibbs, and Remy spent most of the afternoon going over all the Admiral’s contacts, searching for something, anything, that looked like a clue. With Tim out of the picture, it was hard going. Jimmy was no help, not that they expected much, he and Ducky had caught an autopsy and were working on that. Dean and Cos were at home with Tim, although Dean had shown up with a pot of soup and a loaf of whole-grain bread at about 1300. He dropped it off then left again, saying, “Eat. You’ll all be bitchy if you come home hungry. Jet, you’ll come to Mallard Manor for supper.” He pointed. “No argument.” Gibbs just shrugged and grabbed a slice of bread before Remy and Tony took it all.

They called it a day at 1700 and all headed for Mallard Manor. Tony’s huge Hummer rumbled away, returned by Dean, followed by Remy in Tim’s truck. It had become a habit for everyone from each house to come in in one vehicle, then use company cars for business.

When they reached the house everyone went to their assigned tasks; cell phones were great for getting organized on the move.

Ducky settled in his usual place at the kitchen table, out of the way but not out of the group.

Dean and Cosmo came down, Cos announced that Tim was still asleep and should remain so until dinner. They were assigned to cleanup, so they joined Ducky at the table.

Gibbs nodded to a bag of potatoes; “Remy, tater duty with me.” Remy just picked up a peeler and joined him at the center workstation.

Tony aimed Jimmy at the remains of the soup. “There’s not enough of that for everyone, so thicken it up. You’ll have to stand over it or it’ll lump. I’ll brown the beef and we’ll have shepherd’s pie. There’s still three loaves of bread in the freezer; someone get it and put it in the oven.”

Dean got up to do that while Ducky told AJ, “I’d love for you to make the mash with sour cream, if it’s not too much trouble.”

AJ shrugged. “If there’s enough sour cream, you got it.” He went to check the fridge for the sour cream and found that there were two tubs, which was just enough. “Great. There’s just enough. If it’s not, I’ll add some butter to them ... or do you want half and half?”

Ducky considered that. “Whatever you want to do, dear boy. I just love the tang of the cream. I remember when Mother used to make mash by just mashing the potatoes with a masher. Cream and butter were still a bit dear when I was a child.”

He went on to reminisce about the shortages the British people experienced due to the effects of WWII that lasted well into the late 50’s and early 60’s.

Tony continued to brown the beef while Gibbs and Remy peeled the bag of potatoes and cubed them, and Remy set the pot to boil. Gibbs said, “Don’t forget to add salt. If you don’t add it now, it won’t take.”

“Got it.” Remy reached across Tony for the salt shaker, which he took exception to. 

“Damn it, Remy. Don’t fuckin’ reach across on top of a damn hot pan. You’ll either tip it over or get burned. Jerk.”

Remy bumped Tony’s shoulder gently. “Bitch.”

“Jerk. You’ll whine like a mother.”

“Won’t.”

“Will too.”

Ducky called them to order easily. “Boys, that’s enough. Remy, AJ is right. And I’d hate to see you burned. Be more careful.”

Remy smiled at Ducky and shrugged. “Okay.”

Gibbs just snorted and continued to peel. Remy returned to his work while Jimmy just shook his head and continued to stir the broth so it wouldn’t scorch or lump. 

When Tony was done browning the meat and onions, Jimmy took the pan and scraped all the brown bits off the bottom of the pan, then dumped the whole thing into the gravy/veg mix. “There.” he scooped up a bit, offered it to Tony, and asked, “More salt ... pepper ... anything?”

Tony tasted carefully then offered, “Might add some Worcestershire sauce.”

Dean snagged that from a cupboard and handed it over. Tony dumped a good dollop into the pot and gave it a stir. “Yeah, that’s got it.”

They settled at the table to wait for the potatoes to boil and the bread to finish thawing. Tony stretched, then remarked, “I’m really glad that this house has a double oven. That bread takes up one and there’s no room for the pie.”

Remy nodded. “It do. An’ when ya make lasagna there’s no room in either oven. But, man it do be good.”

“Thanks.” Tony flinched a bit when a hand reached over his shoulder with a cup of coffee. “Man, bell; seriously, Jet.”

Gibbs smirked at him over his own cup. “Tough noogies.” He eyed Ducky for a moment. “We should wake Tim soon.”

Ducky nodded. “True. I’ll wake him and give him another once-over. Poor boy is going to be so stiff.” He shook his head, stood up, and ambled out the door to wake Tim and give him a poke and prod, and some pills.

Tim moaned when Ducky woke him. “Man, it hurts. Fuck.”

“Now, now, language, please.” Ducky chuckled softly when Tim gave him a stink eye. “And none of that, if you please.”

“Or even if I don’t please, right?” Tim sat up slowly at Ducky’s urging, grumbling sourly.

“Exactly. Now ... Let me have a good look at you.” Ducky examined Tim’s bruises carefully, listened to his lung sounds, and announced, “I do believe you’ll do. Bad bruises, a bit stiff; but no broken ribs or fluid in your lungs. Come along. Tony said to bring you down. I’m not sure exactly when supper will be done, but you don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Tim followed him slowly. He was a bit surprised when Dean gave up his favorite seat so that he, Tim, wouldn’t have to try to guard his back while he got to his usual seat. “Thanks. Coffee?” He turned the chair around and straddled it, something Ducky usually frowned at; this time he let it slide. Pressure on those bruises couldn’t be comfortable.

Cos got Tim a cup of coffee, dressed just as he liked it, then went back to his task. “We’re nearly done. The potatoes are soft.”

Tony handed Cos a ricer and pointed, “You know what to do.”

“I do. Who ever invented this thing is one of my heroes.” Cos started forking the drained potato pieces into the commercial-size ricer. It didn’t take him long to get all the potatoes done. He carefully added some butter and sour cream, salt, white pepper, and just a dash of cayenne. A quick stir showed that he’d guessed very well, the potatoes were smooth, creamy, and not too thick or thin. 

Tony took the bowl and a tool that looked a lot like an ice cream scoop. He used that to put neat half balls of potato on the top of two baking dishes full of the meat and vegetable mixture. He stuck them in the oven to brown and finish heating. “There. By the time that’s done, the bread should be brown. Hungry, Tim?”

Tim groaned. “I am, and my stomach is a bit upset. All those pills on an empty stomach and ...” he just shrugged.

Remy bopped Dean on the shoulder. “You didn’t give him any bread? What the hell’s with that?”

Dean leaned away from Remy, bumping AJ in the process. “He didn’t ask,” Dean pouted back at his friend.

AJ shoved him back toward Remy. “Personal space, man. And ... he shouldn’t have had to fuckin’ ask. You should have just made him.” He short-ribbed Dean then said, “He probably didn’t even know he should.”

Tim scowled at them all. “Stop that before we have someone else on the wounded list. And I didn’t know I should eat something. Dean?”

Dean gave him a wide-eyed look then shrugged. “Well ... sorry, man, never actually thought about it. Eat before pills unless the bottle says otherwise; it’s a rule.”

Gibbs chuckled. “Not really. Just good sense. Tim, dumbass.”

Tim frowned then shrugged, “Ow. Damnit. Okay, now I know. Jerk.”

This brought a barrage of soft missiles like wadded napkins. He wasn’t that surprised to get hit in the face with a sock. Thankfully, it was clean.

“That’s right ... abuse a wounded man. I’m shocked.” Tim tried to look hurt but couldn’t help laughing.

“If you was truly wounded, we’d treat ya like it.” Dean wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders, careful of his bruises, and tried to kiss him on the cheek. Tim pushed him off with a loud ‘Ick! Dog kisses,’ to which Dean replied, “SEAL kisses, thankyouverymuch.”

Gibbs called everyone to order. “Sit the fuck down. Food’s nearly done.”

Everyone sat except for Tony and Remy, who brought the two pies to the table, then Remy went back for the bread. Jimmy had already put salad on the table.

They all dug in, passing things as required and making sure that Tim ate instead of pushing food around on his plate until it was cold. 

Tim sighed, “Thanks. It was really good.”

He started to get up but Tony demanded, “And exactly what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting my plate in the dishwasher.” Tim realized that he wasn’t going to be let to do a tap of work, as Remy would put it. “Okay, okay, I’m sitting here and watchin’. Satisfied?”

“Yeah.” Tony picked up Tim’s dirty dishes and took them to scrape into the garbage bowl, then stuck them in the dishwasher. 

The dishes were soon in the washer and the cycle started. Remy wiped the table down then turned to Tim. “I hep ya back up.” He didn’t wait for Tim to argue, he just levered him up and started him in the general direction of the stairs. “Ducky, I take ‘im up. You wanna look ‘im over?”

“No. I do believe that I’ve poked him enough for one day. Just get him into bed, give him another dose, and let him be. Thank you.” Ducky eyed Tim, giving him a look that let Tim know he’d better do as told. He hurt enough that he just grumbled a bit as he went.  
.

 

Chapter 2

Morning came, and Tim moaned miserably as he tried to get out of bed. Dean popped his head in the door. “Man, stay in bed.”

“No, man, I gotta go.”

Dean didn’t bother to ask where; this time of day, he knew. “Okay. Let me help you. A .25 to the chest is totally different from two high powers to the back. And we did discuss this when that Jones bitch shot you. You’re not allowed.” While he’d been scolding, Dean had carefully helped Tim stand up. “You got it now?”

Tim would deny whimpering like a kicked pup to his dying day, but he did and barely managed to get on his feet. Once he was up, he was okay. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll come down for ... food. What the hell time is it anyway?” He shuffled down the hall while Dean frankly hovered. “Man, go the fuck away.”

Dean snorted. “Not. I’ll stay out in the damn hall, I’m not about to offer to fuckin’ hold it for you, but I’m not takin’ a chance on you fallin’. AJ’d outright murder me if you fell.” 

Tim, not that steady on his feet yet, just went to do his business, mumbling, “Geeze, mother hen much?” 

Dean gave his bitching all the attention it deserved: none. “Shut up, jerk.”

“Won’t.” Tim finished what he needed to do and washed his hands and face. He felt a bit better but he was so stiff he could hardly move. “Any candy in here?”

“No. Doc moved it all to his room. He said we use too much. Remember? Cos had indigestion for three days, figured out that he was takin’ too much on an empty stomach, so he moved it.” Dean leaned against the door jam and watched as Tim attempted to shave. He finally took the razor from him. “Why’d you leave your razor in here?”

“Needed to charge it and all my damn sockets are full. I need to get a second power bar.” Tim gave the razor over with a grumble.

“Let’s go down to the kitchen. Cos is fixin’ brunch.” Dean pocketed the razor and wrapped an arm around Tim. “Come on.”

Tim accepted the help with good grace; no sense in grumbling when he knew he needed the help. They made it to the kitchen with a minimum of difficulty and Tim took his usual seat.

Cos eyed him for a moment then said, “Hungry? You better be. I cooked.” This last was said with some pride, everyone knew that Cos hated cooking, although he turned out decent food when he did.

“Yeah. Thanks. What’s on?” Tim accepted a couple of pills from Dean; Ducky had left several prescriptions with detailed instructions before he and Jimmy had gone in for the day. Tim swallowed them with water from a glass on the table.

“Well, poached eggs, toast, bacon, orange juice and ... not sure what else. What would you like?”

Tim eyed him with some confusion, well aware that Cos couldn’t poach an egg to save his life. “Poached? How’d you manage that?”

Cos proudly pointed to an egg-shaped thing on the counter. “Electric poacher. Gibbs got it for Christmas from some ... jerkwater someone. Brought it over special.”

“Oh. Hashbrowns?”

“On the skillet as we speak.” Cos tossed a handful of shredded potatoes into a pan. Hashbrowns were one of the things he did well.

Tim repeated one request, “What damn time is it?”

“Nearly 0930.” Tim opened his mouth to protest then shut it. Finally he said, “Feels like fuckin’ oh-dark-too-damn-early.”

“Needed the sleep, so shut it. Food’ll be on soon as those spuds are done.” Cos went back to his cooking; burnt potatoes not only tasted foul, they stank like anything and took forever to scrape out of the pan.

Tim picked up the razor that Dean had put on the table and finished shaving.

Five minutes later they were all sitting down to brunch. Tim eyed his plate then dug in. “Mmm. ’S goo’.” He ate everything on his plate and demanded more toast and coffee.

Dean and Cos just ate in companionable silence but when they were done eating, Dean went to put the dishes in the dishwasher while Cos told Tim to take off his t-shirt.

“Okay. Only ... I think I’m going to need some help. Can’t get my damn arms up.” Tim illustrated by raising his arm as high as it would go. “Ow.” 

Cos shook his head. “You know the old punch line ... if it hurts, don’t do it. So ...” he helped Tim get his shirt off then said, “This’ll probably be cold but Ducky said.” And that was the final word. All the Pod loved Ducky so, if he said jump off a dock, they all went swimming.

Tim did shiver a bit as the salve was cold but, between the pills and the salve, he had to admit that he did feel better. 

Dean nodded in the direction of the sitting room, as Ducky called it. “Go sit. We’ll take care of the kitchen. An’ don’t do anything. Just sit. I swear, you’ve gotten shot an’ you’re runnin’ around like AJ.”

Tim couldn’t help a bit of snark. “At least I’m just runnin’ computer searches instead of actually runnin’. Although I could use a nice run, I’m restless.”

“Fuck that shit. You’re sittin’ down ... take your laptop and work ... from here. Damnit.” 

Tim just smirked at Dean then headed for the sitting room, making a detour to the library to get his laptop. He settled in a comfortable chair, although it wasn’t that comfortable for him with his bruised back. He mumbled, “Need a pillow or something,” then nearly jumped out of his skin when Cos walked in with a pillow in his hand. “Fuck! Bell, really.”

Cos blinked at him for a second then offered, “Don’t want the pillow?”

“Yes, I do. But I’m putting bells on all y’all, Jet and AJ especially. The bunch a’ ya could sneak up on a bat.” He leaned forward to let Cos put the pillow behind him. “Thanks.” He returned to his work, trying not to sulk too obviously. 

AJ drifted by, snarked, “What the hell is it with you, probie? Some dingbat stalker shoots you, you get beat up, then shot again. I’m not lettin’ ya go t’ the head without an escort.” He walked on, shaking his head. He flopped down in an easy chair and started working on his tablet.

Tim grumbled, “Never thought ... I swear I don’t know who I offended, or how, but I’m sorry. Really, seriously sorry. So stop it already.” He blinked for a second then exclaimed indignantly, “Like you’re one to talk, jerk.”

Everyone nearby snickered at that then went back to what they were doing, studiously ignoring the hot glare Tim sent them. No one wanted to seriously piss Tim off; he was a god of cyberspace and could seriously mess you up with one finger.

Tim had set up his searches at NCIS to send the results to his laptop as well as his desk top at NCIS. He wasn’t expecting any results just yet but he was hopeful of something within a few hours. 

As he was still hurting, although he wouldn’t admit it, Tim decided to head up to his room to rest a bit. He levered himself out of his chair, grabbed the pillow and limped toward the stairs. He was met at the bottom by Tony, who simply offered his arm. “Let me help. You’ll have a hell of a time by yourself.”

Tim took Tony’s arm and started up the stairs. “Thanks, AJ, don’t think I’d make it on my own.” 

Tony let Tim lean on him as they got to the top of the stairs. “Hurtin’?”

“Yeah. I’ll manage. I wouldn’t turn my nose up at some candy.” Tim eased down onto his bed. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be back in a sec. Gremlin said to make sure you drank ... so ... glass a’ water, dose a’ meds comin’ right up.” he went into the bathroom to get the water and pills that Jimmy had left. “You hear about the new orders we all got?”

“No. What’s up?” Tim settled himself as comfortably as he could.

“We’re all signed up for a snatch and run survival thing ... whether we like it or not. Not a happy bunny.” Tony handed Tim the pills and waited while he crunched them between his teeth. “Water.” He handed Tim the glass. “With a bendy straw.” 

Tim just downed the glass in a few swallows, letting the straw slurp the last drops.

Tony grunted, “Nice.”

“So ... what the hell is a snatch and run ... what you said?”

“They track you for a bit, and, if you bust ‘em, they just assign a new team. Then, when they’re sure they can get you with a minimum of notice from civilians, they snatch you right off the street and dump you in the wilds of ... somewhere. Your objective is to survive for ... usually 14 days with just whatever you have on you but that does include a ruck ... if you make a habit of carrying one. I hate ‘em. They’re a well known waste of time and resources and this will be the ... third?... one I’ve been on.” Tony made a face. “You grab some z’s.” He shut the door on a snickering Tim and stomped down the hall, muttering about ‘Common Dog Fucker’ not being that common and BOHICA.

Tim dropped off soon after and slept until Jimmy came to wake him for lunch. He groaned his way out of bed and allowed Jimmy to give him more pills before attempting a trip down to the kitchen.

Tim settled with Ducky to watch as Tony and Jimmy made lunch.

Tony asked, “Anyone have a craving for anything?”

Tim realized that he did. “Do you have everything to make Chicken Alfredo with peas and mushrooms?”

“I think so. We’ll have to have Angel Hair; we’re out of spaghetti.” Tony grinned as he was well aware that Tim didn’t care.

“Fine. Anything I need to do?”

Tony waved his hand, “No, just sit. Ducky’ll swat ya if you over-do.”

Ducky patted Tim’s arm and agreed, “That I will, young man, that I will. Just sit there. If it were a matter of life or death, for anyone, I wouldn’t say anything. Since it’s not, sit.”

While Tim was sulking, Tony was cooking. He set a pot of water on the stove, observing, “Water. And lots of it. I really don’t know why people cook pasta in an ounce of water. You need lots ... the pasta has to move around or it sticks together. And salt. You have to salt the water.” He tossed a handful of salt into the water then turned on the heat. “And don’t even think about starting a sauce until the water just begins to simmer. You can’t make either one wait on the other. So ...” he poured cream and milk into a sauce pan then added several crushed cloves of garlic. “I’ll let that infuse while I deal with other stuff.”

He showed that his knife skills were more comprehensive than just stabbing someone by chopping herbs, slicing mushrooms, and cutting chicken. He got the peas out of the freezer and dumped some into a bowl. “We haven’t used this bag as a cold pack, have we?”

Ducky answered that. “No, I marked that one with some tape. It has a big X on it.” He frowned for a moment. “We probably should throw that one away. It’s been used several times.”

“Probably should.” Jimmy fished around in the freezer, found the bag in question and just tossed it into the trash. “There. Not that anyone would be stupid enough to eat anything with a note ‘Do Not Eat.’ in Ducky’s handwriting.” He returned to tearing up lettuce and chopping things for salad.

Tony checked the pasta water. When he realized that it was just getting ready to boil, he turned on the cream/ milk mixture then got out a sauté pan. He tossed in the sliced mushrooms with a drizzle of olive oil and several grinds of pepper then set the pan back on the heat. The mushrooms were soon done and the water was boiling. He put the pasta in the water then gave the mushrooms a quick stir to keep them from scorching. The cream was now simmering so he dipped out the garlic and tossed it. He started adding parmesan cheese to the hot cream, stirring to keep it from lumping. A quick check of the pasta showed that it was about two minutes from being done so he tossed the frozen peas into the water which slowed the cooking down to a bit more than three minutes. He returned to his sauce and added the Romano cheese and continued stirring; as soon as the cheese was all melted he dumped the mushrooms into it and continued stirring. Another check made sure the pasta was done; he drained it, dumped it back into the pot and poured the cheese sauce over it, then tossed in the chicken. A quick stir, a grind of pepper, and it was done. He put it all on a huge platter, sprinkled it with more parmesan cheese and pepper. 

“There. Done.” He brought the platter to the table with a smile.

While Tony had been doing the pasta, Jimmy hadn’t been idle. He’d made a huge loaf of garlic toast. This was done in a different way. He buttered the thick slices of bread with garlic butter then toasted them on a grill. It was better than the usual way of half slicing Italian bread, stuffing garlic and butter between the slices and putting that in the oven. That made soft, rather soggy (but delicious) bread with a crunchy crust. This made toasted, crunchy all over slices… and you didn’t have to turn on the oven.

Jimmy had also finished his salad which was made of iceberg lettuce, spring greens, spinach, cherry tomato halves, and cucumber mixed with kalamata olives, ripe goat cheese, and balsamic dressing. 

Ducky nodded, then turned to take a wine bottle from the sideboard. “Here we go. A nice semi-sweet wine. I’d prefer something a bit more tart, but the Alfredo sauce doesn’t stand up to it. So ...” He poured a measure into everyone’s glass, passing them as he did so. “There we are.”

Everyone helped themselves to a portion of the main, some salad, and a slice of bread. 

Tim forked up a bite and chewed with appreciation. “Mmmm. So good.” He reached for his glass then yelped, “Hey! Mine! You’ve got your own.”

Jimmy, who was the culprit, replied, “Forgot. You’re on pain meds and antibiotics. No alcohol of any kind. Sorry. But ...” he poured half the wine into his glass. “All the more for us.” he smirked at Tim, then handed the glass to Tony.

Tim scowled, “Jerk.”

Ducky watched the by-play with some amusement. “I am sorry, my dear boy. I completely forgot. AJ, do not smirk at Tim ... nor you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy gave Ducky a ‘who me?’ look then went back to his food. “Mmm. AJ, you’ve out done yourself. So good.”

Tim agreed. “Yeah. Really good. And the garlic toast is good too. Thanks.”

They took their time as they ate, keeping the conversation low key. Tim tried to keep up but he was drooping within the hour. 

“Damnit, AJ, I don’t know how you do it. I’m worn out again.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m more used to it than you are. And I usually have to push through because we’re in it deep. That’s why I crash so hard. Go take a nap.”

Tim frowned, “I’m all slept out. I think I’ll just veg in front of my TV. Maybe fall asleep.” He got up and headed back upstairs.

Tony watched him limp away for a moment, “Need any help?”

“Don’t think so. I’m going to have trouble with the stairs but I’m not coming back down until breakfast. I’ll probably feel a lot better then.” He went on his way, carefully navigating the stairs, and lay down on his bed to watch something mindless on TV until he fell back asleep. 

Tony and Jimmy made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen while Ducky loaded the dish washer. He shut the door and turned it on with a satisfied expression then said, “Now ... a nice cup of tea and I’m for my quarters as well. The excitement of the day is catching up with me. I have a very nice journal that I’ve been meaning to read.” 

Jimmy agreed with that sentiment. “Me too. Tea and a journal for me as well. Finding out that any of the Pod have been injured wears on my nerves something awful. I’ll start the kettle.”

But he didn’t need to as Tony had started it while he was cleaning. “It’s just about to boil. I’ve got a couple of calls to make, then I’d like a cup too. Okay?”

“Sure. I’ll just use the bigger pot and add a couple of extra spoons of leaves. Oolong?”

“Fine. That one that tastes of apricots is nice.”

“Got it. Shoo ... make your calls.” Jimmy waved a hand at Tony, who laughed and trotted out to check on Tim and make calls to a few people he knew who kept an eye on the sort of person who might have taken a pot shot at John.

Tony called a man who knew a man who knew things. He got the information that there was no formal hit out on the admiral, which was good; he was also told that no one had heard anything about an outside hit. Tony asked if the target could have been Tim and was told no. He thanked his informant, then leaned back to think things over again. He finally realized that they didn’t know enough and gave up to go watch something mindless and stupid on his TV.

Supper turned out to be sandwiches and soup. Tim came down and admitted that he felt a lot better, not so stiff and the bruises were already beginning to turn. 

.

Gibbs called a house meeting after supper then settled at the table to wait for the rest of the house to show.

It wasn’t long before Dean, Cos, and Remy showed up; after all, when Gibbs used his ‘Gunny voice’, half the neighborhood knew someone was wanted.

“Okay. Here’s what we got. Someone took a pot shot, not callin’ that a snipe, seriously. Anyway ... took a shot at Tim’s dad. Tim took the hit ... two of ‘em. From the ballistics and whatnot we’re sure that the ol’ man was the target. I’ll have to let Tim know soon, but I want him to rest tonight. The admiral is making a list of anyone he thinks might either take a shot or pay for one. But my gut is tellin’ me our shooter won’t be on the list. So ... ideas.” Gibbs sat back to sip his coffee while everyone chewed on that.

After a few minutes of silent thought Remy offered, “Maybe it’s someone he demoted? Can he even do dat?”

Cos shrugged. “He’s an admiral, he can. But ... if he did, he probably transferred ‘em too. So ... but even if they were transferred they could go UA and come back ... if they were pissed enough.”

Dean agreed with that but offered, “Might also be someone he ... he’s in acquisitions?” Gibbs nodded. “So ... what if it’s not what he did ... but something he didn’t do? Like ... turned down a bid?”

Gibbs brightened at that. “Or didn’t approve a renew on a contract. Some providers seem to think that they can cut corners, short count and all that, then they get pissed when someone calls ‘em on it. We need Tim to run more searches. I’ll get him on that in the morning.” He looked around at the skeptical faces. “What? You think he’s gonna stay home? Think again.”

Everyone agreed that Tim would be on the job in the morning, no matter what Ducky said. 

.

The next morning proved that Tim was made of stern stuff indeed. He was up at his usual time and ready to run with the pod. He did refuse to carry a ruck but no one called him on it. One, he didn’t have a new one yet, and two, his back was beginning to turn those interesting shades of brown and green that old bruises do.

Tony eyed him, Remy poked his shoulder. All the other guys did their own version of a health check. Ducky did a real one. 

When he finally finished, he just nodded then said, “Well, do what you feel like doing. Avoid excessive pressure on those bruises. Take analgesics as needed. Blasted young whippersnapper.” His smiled was kindly. “Go.”

Tim trotted out to join the others. 

As they ran, Tim got updated on the case. 

Gibbs started out. “Vance has said that you’re too close to the primary, but you can work the case unless you ... do something stupid. Not his words ... mine. There gonna be problems?”

“No. Father and I have a ... working relationship. We avoid each other as much as possible. Get along by nearly ignoring each other at family things. And Penny is keeping her nose out of it. She knows hopeless when she sees it. So ... My searches show anything?”

Tony snorted. “The jackwad TDA did something to your desktop while no one was watching him. We can’t even get the damn screen saver to come on. I hope he didn’t crash everything.”

Tim snarled, “Well, if he has, I’m gonna fuckin’ beat him like a drum. If I’ve told everyone once, I’ve told ‘em a hundred damn times. Do. Not. Mess. With. My. Computer. Damnit, I bet he tried to stop the run because you can’t check email or get on the net with ‘em runnin’. That’s why I have two towers under my desk. One for search management and the other for everyday business. You have to toggle between ‘em. And it’s not that damn hard, just fuckin’ click on the damn icon.”

Tim spent the rest of the run trying to think of what the TDA could have done to his systems, how much trouble it was going to be to fix it, and whether he could lure the idiot onto the mats with him later.

When they got back to Mallard Manor the whole group declared themselves not fit for company so Gibbs and his group headed back to GHQ to clean up for work. Tim groaned his way into the hottest shower he could tolerate.

After his shower Tim felt a lot better; the run had loosened up stiff muscles and a last dose of candy finished the job. He dressed in old MarPat as he hated Digital Blues with a passion. He disdainfully called them rotten blueberries and was quite pleased that Vance had forbidden wearing them on duty.

Tony yelled up the stairs. “Anyone not down in three drives themselves ... unless I decide you should run.”

The clatter of Jimmy and Tim nearly falling down the stairs made a much more dignified Ducky laugh. He shook his head, saying, “I do hope I’m not included in that, AJ.”

Tony replied, “Nope. You’re home free. We’ll always wait on you. But those two ... Come on, let’s put a wheel under this bitch.”

Ducky called shotgun, even though he didn’t need to. Jimmy and Tim took second seat, squabbling amiably about where to put their rucks.

They settled in and listened to Ducky expound on the origin of the High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, or HMMWV-A2, which was what they were in. He was, however, indignantly corrected that this was not a Hummer. That was what the ‘crippled’ civilian version was. They referred to it as an Arnie Special.

Ducky apologized easily. “Well, excuse my ignorance ... as I was saying.” He continued his discourse until they reached the Yard.

The two Marines on the gate asked after Tim, then grinned at him when he announced, “I’m fine. I just got shot in the damn back twice by some fucked up jackwad that can’t shoot worth shit. My poor ruck will never be the same. Nor my Samsung tablet, nor my special laptop. I swear I’m gonna stock up on shells and parts and build my own.”

This led to a round of laughter and teasing while they ran the mirrors under the Humvee and had a quick look into the storage. One of the Marines, the new, junior, member, started to open a locker and, when he was stymied by the seal, demanded that Tony open it.

Tony refused easily, simply saying, “It’s way above your pay grade. If you have a problem, call your CO and we’ll deal.”

The man did call his CO and got a short, “He’s a damn SEAL. You really wanna fuck around with his shit ... it’s your funeral. My official advice is ... stay the fuck out of it.” The sharp click told the Corporal that he’d avoided an ass chewing by a hair. He returned to wave the Humvee through the barricade. His partner had spent the time trading gossip with the group.

When they parked it was always a bit problematical as the huge vehicle took up two spaces; if it wasn’t parked on the yellow line, you couldn’t get the doors open. That usually pissed someone off, and dealing with that put Tony in a bad mood. This time, Tim just eyed the officious, chubby, suit-wearing nuisance and snarled, “Look. I’m in a really, really bad mood. You’ve got two choices ... Go the fuck away ... or meet me in the gym in five. What’ll it be?”

The man sputtered for a moment then scurried away, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll just see about that. I’m going direct to the Director ... you have no idea who I am.”

Tony yelled after him, “And we don’t give a fuck either.”

They checked in, with serious questions from the guards as to Tim’s health. He announced, “I’m fine. Really. Just really sore. Spread the word. And ... when I find out who crashed what ... I’m gonna fuck ‘em up. Bruised back or no.” And with that, he headed for his desk. Just in time to keep the TDA from unplugging a cable that had to remain plugged into the system. He took a deep breath and revealed his temper. “Excuse me? What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing to my damn desk?” He reached out, grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket, and yanked him out from under the desk. “If you’ve unplugged the system I’m gonna kill you.”

“It’s just some odd wire. I need the jack for my phone charger.” The man, who rejoiced in the name of John Jones, gave the wire a tentative tug.

“If you unplug anything ... I’ll unplug you. Drop it.” Tim gave the man a shake.

John dropped the wire with a grimace. “You don’t have to be so rough.”

“I do. You were told not to use my desk. Not to mess with my computers. Not to unplug anything. And not to aggravate Gibbs. Right?” Tim glowered, making Tony beam at him proudly.

“Well ... yeah ... but?” Agent Jones shrugged irritably.

“So ... just so there’s no confusion,” he pointed, “That’s my desk. Those are my computers. You’ve unplugged at least one thing you shouldn’t have, and tried to actually unplug the master cable which would actually fry your charger ... if you could get it plugged in there. And Gibbs looks like he’s about to have a stroke.” He glowered at Gibbs who held up his hand in a ‘not me’ gesture and tried, unsuccessfully, to smother his snicker fit. “Whose idiot idea was this anyway?”

Leon Vance had been warned that Tim was having a snit, so he had come down to see what was what. “Um ... that would be me.” He waited for Tim to cringe but was disappointed.

“Okay. So ... why, in your superior position, did you make the idiot decision to lumber us with ... that?” His expression was a combination of disgust and annoyance with a touch of urge to kill.

“Um ... I thought it would be a good idea for failing agents to learn from the best?” Vance was now reconsidering his decision.

“Well, try again. You cannot make a sword out of a butter knife… no matter how hard you try. You’ll only ruin the knife and frustrate yourself. So ... do something intelligent with him while I fix what he’s broken. Thankyouverymuch.” And with that, he lowered himself carefully onto the floor to see what cables had been intentionally unplugged and what had been kicked loose by their unhelpful help.

Tony gave Vance a commiserating look. “You have been owned, dude. Seriously owned.”

“I have.” Vance turned his sharp gaze to Jones and jerked his head. “With me.” And Jones was gone, never to be seen again. And Vance quit trying to save unsaveable agents by assigning them to any of the major teams, a thing which made those teams extremely happy.

Tim spent several minutes groveling around under his desk. When he crawled out he pointedly informed Gibbs, “The next time we have ... help, make sure they do not sit at my fuckin’ desk. There’s a Foxtrot Tango of extra cables and wires. I know where they are, so I don’t fuckin’ disconnect shit by accident. Everyone else seems to just kick shit until it’s out of their way ... never mind that they usually manage to unplug something crucial.”

Gibbs nodded. “I know. I told that fucktard what desk to sit at, but every time I left for more than three fuckin’ seconds, he was at your damn desk. As far as I’m concerned ... if it’s good enough for Dean or Cos, it’s good enough for some near useless fuckwad TDA. So ... what did he screw up?”

Tim settled down to his computers to see what was actually going on. “Okay ... he kicked the secondary display loose ... but he didn’t disconnect the secondary tower from the local net. The main system is okay. Just no damn display. How the hell he managed to disconnect all the monitors from their ... Never mind ... you’re not interested and it’s pissin’ me off. So ... I got shit plugged back in and the searches are all done. Let me see what’s going on with that ... I’ll be ready to tell you what’s goin’ on in ten.”

The whole Pod watched while Tim worked his magic. Dean mumbled, “And what that disaster on two feet did to my desk is a crime. I’m gonna mess him up if I ever see him again.” He and Cosmo both went to fix their desks. Jimmy had disappeared down to the Morgue with Ducky the second they’d arrived. And Tony was busy with things at his desk, mostly trying to catch up with the bale of paper work he had to do as SFA. He did admit that the little trick Tim had pulled with the internal programming for a lot of the forms had cut it down by about a third. No one seemed to be willing to try to change it, although a few had complained about sharing forms; Vance had told them to shut up in no uncertain terms, realizing the savings in time created a nice cut in overtime hours.

So Tim collated a ton of data and found ― nothing. He presented what little data he had, which was: the Admiral hadn’t pissed off a soul. At least no one that had the where-with-all to pay for a hit, even an inept one. So they were back to square one again. No one was happy.

Gibbs had Tony send an email requesting the Admiral get his lists in ASAP. Tony mumbled something about ‘insubordination’ and ‘nagging a friggin’ admiral’, but sent it.

A few minutes later Tim stretched and moaned. “Man, I need to get up an’ move around. I’m still stiff as a board.”

Tony nodded. “We had a good run. You want to go down to the gym and do some yoga?”

“Yeah. Might be just the thing. Who’s with?” Tim stood up followed by Dean and Cos.

Tony dialed Jimmy and asked if he wanted to come; he was a bit surprised when Abby’s voice announced, “Me too, please.”

“Sure, Abs, anything you like. Just be ready to keep up ... no shame if you have to drop out, though.”

“Okay. Meet in the gym in a few.”

It didn’t take long for everyone to get to the gym and dress out. Abby took the longest, only because she had to run out to her car to get her bag. 

Tony eyed the group. “Okay, we’re gonna take it a bit easy, seein’ as how Digimon just got himself shot. So ... Sun Salutation.” And with that he started calling the asanas.

Abby, ever the chatter box, started talking to Dean who was on her right. He just ignored her as he wasn’t a talker during yoga; he preferred to find a quiet space in his head and try to stop his mental noise. She quickly gave up on him, realizing that she was bothering him. She then tried Jimmy on her other side.

Jimmy eyed her from his Downward Dog pose, then decided. “Abby, don’t chatter. We’re all trying to find a quiet space. No one wants to listen to your opinion of ... whatever new group this is. Later ... maybe.”

Abby wondered if she should be insulted and decided to pout. Not that it did her much good. No one even noticed.

Since Tim was still on the injured list, Tony took it easy on them, only leading them through an hour of Iyengar instead of Bikram. Then he eased into a few stretches. After that he announced, “Savasana.” He waited while everyone got comfortable. “Okay ... five minutes.”

Tony and Gibbs were both aware that Abby had the patience of a two-year-old. Tony was of the opinion that she had to be so patient with her tests that she ran out of it. Gibbs thought that she’d just never been taught patience as her parents tried to make up for the fact that they were deaf by letting her run wild. They agreed that she had to learn some or she was going to run afoul of the wrong person at the wrong time.

“Abby. Be still. Let your busy brain calm down.”

Abby settled back with a huff. She knew that squirming all around wasn’t doing the others any good, but she wanted to be up and doing. Now.

Gibbs’ warning, “Abby,” settled her for a few moments.

Someone on the other side of the gym snickered and said, just loud enough, “Well, I never thought I’d see anyone get that squint to shut up for more than three seconds.”

Tim rolled over and eyed the speaker with considerable displeasure. “I’m sure I didn’t hear you right. One, Abby is a very exceptional forensic scientist; therefore, her brain is hyper active. Two ...” he thought for a moment. “Well, there is no two. Jerk.”

“Yeah? And you’re just Gibbs’ nerd.”

Tim snorted, “I’m not. I’ll have you know that I’m a geek. One definition of a geek is a knowledgeable person who makes six to eight figures doing something they like. You, on the other hand, are an ignorant, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, cretinous twat-waffle and a total waste of resources.” 

Tony muttered, “No, Timmy, don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel.”

As you might suspect, that didn’t go down well with the loud mouth. “Yeah, well, we’ll just see about that.”

Tim stretched a bit, making muscles ripple. “Okay ... fine ... mats, now.” He walked onto the mats and waited. “Well? You comin’? And what the hell is your name? I can’t keep thinking of you as dumbass.”

Tony eyed Gibbs, who nodded. Both men knew that there was no convincing Tim to back down once he got started, but Tony needed to be reassured that Tim could handle this. There would be no question except that he was still recovering. Gibbs was of the opinion that Tim could handle this, so was Tony, so they all just gathered around to see the beat down.

Abby bit her lip but kept silent too. There was no way she was going to embarrass Tim, but she was worried.

Remy patted her on the arm. “No worry, chéri, he be fine.” Abby nodded, then turned to watch.

Special Agent Sam French turned out to be one of those weedy wanna-be sorts who spent way too much time trying to prove that they were manly men. The kind that got involved in a pissing contest at the drop of an insult.

While all the insults and posturing were going on, no one noticed a man come into the gym from a side door. He was accompanied by a couple of younger men who seemed to be some sort of bodyguards or personal assistants. They were all in Service Dress Blues, the Navy version of a business suit. They eased into the group around the mats to watch. 

Tim stepped onto the mat. “Okay, Sammy, let’s do this.”

“Don’t call me Sammy.” Sam kicked off his sneakers and stepped onto the mat.

“I’ll call you anything I like.” Tim didn’t look like he really cared one way or the other what Sam liked or didn’t. He looked like he was going to kick ass, fuck taking names.

Tony nudged Gibbs. “Over there.” He nodded in the direction of the three strangers, or rather, two strangers and Tim’s father.

Gibbs eyed the men for a moment then shrugged, “He’s gonna get an eyeful. Serve him right.” He turned back to the mat. “You gonna referee?”

Tony shook his head. “Oh, hell no. Not gettin’ between Digimon and his prey. I’ll go keep Abby from having a stroke.” He snickered softly as he eased through the crowd to Abby’s side.

Gibbs eyed both men and decided to keep out of it too. If it was needed, he’d step in.

Tim was just standing in the middle of the mat waiting for Sam to do something beside run his mouth. 

He finally said, “You gonna actually fuckn’ do something, or just run your damn ignorant mouth? I’m not makin’ the first move.” 

It seemed that Sam was just waiting for an invitation. He took a stupid swing at Tim, one of those wild, round house head shots that look so neat on TV, but will get your ass kicked in real life.

In this case, Tim grabbed the passing fist, twisted and used a shoulder throw to dump Sam on his ass. He stepped back to see if the guy would use his brain and give up. But, he evidently went by the ‘get a bigger hammer’ rule of failure. Instead of demonstrating common sense and backing off, he scrambled to his feet and tried a sloppy front heel kick. Tim just stepped back and let him find out that launching a kick that way only resulted in landing on his ass again. He waited until Sam was back on his feet again, then used a low spinning sweep kick to drop him on his ass for the third, and final, time. Tim flipped Sam onto his stomach and finished the fight by turning his hands back to back and gripping his middle fingers. “Give.”

“I yield.” Sam grumbled his way to his feet, bowed with ill grace and left, red-faced and embarrassed. 

“Well. Great sport ... not.” 

There was some cheering from the audience but Abby was ecstatic, yelling, “Way ta go, Timmy!” and bouncing around like a rabbit on crack.

Tim flopped down on a bench and grumbled, “Idiot.”

Remy patted him on the shoulder and offered, “Done good, homme. No fuss, no muss. Good form. An’ ... ‘er come yo papa.”

Tim glanced up from looking for a towel. “Father.” He nodded then looked over his shoulder to take the towel Dean offered. “Thanks, man.”

“You ... I’m very proud of you. That was some display of skills.” 

Tim eyed him for a moment then said, “Do you have that list? I need to get it into the system and do my magic.”

John McGee handed a flash drive to Tim McGee then said, “I hope you’re feeling better? Not that you showed any discomfort during that amazing fight. Well done.”

Tim kept his jaw from dropping by main force of will. “Thank you, sir. This way.” He started for the stairs but was stopped by Tony.

“You go change. I have no intention of sitting next to you in a sweat. Go. I’ll see that the admiral gets where he belongs.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Tim gave himself the sniff test. “Gah! Shower time.”

Admiral McGee was joined by his staff, or the two he’d permitted to accompany him to NCIS. He actually had a staff of eight, people who guarded him, people who kept his schedule straight, people who kept him from being annoyed by people he didn’t want to talk to, and someone to keep them all on point. He wondered when he’d accumulated so many bodies.

The group made their way to the elevator and Gibbs smirked as he pointed out that there wasn’t enough room for all of them at once. NCIS was a smaller agency, and the architects and engineers hadn’t seen the need for a large elevator, so they only held eight.

Tony nodded, “You take the elevator, we’ll meet you.” He led the way to the stairs and opened the door, Remy, Dean, Cosmo, and Gibbs trotted through. It took them half the time it took the elevator to reach the floor.

Admiral McGee and Co. were startled to find the whole group waiting for them when the elevator doors opened. The fact that they weren’t even breathing hard after running up three flights of stairs wasn’t missed either.

.

Tim finished his shower in less than five minutes and got dressed, he was a bit pissed that all he had was old MarPat but just a bit. He’d intended to toss a pair of jeans and a t-shirt or henley into his ruck but had forgotten. He knew it wasn’t really allowed, but he wasn’t going out in the field and Vance had loosened up considerably. Tony said he’d finally gotten the stick out of his ass.

He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator; he took the stairs two at a time and was headed for his desk. 

“Hey. Got that list input. And we put the admiral and crew in the small conference room. They can work on their own stuff until we need them. Okay?” Tony pointed to the main monitor on Tim’s desk with a grin.

“Thanks. Anything?” Tim sat down at his desk and started typing. No one was ever sure exactly what he did ―he’d gladly explain but the explanation was usually over their heads― but he got results. He said, “If there’s anything to build on, I’ll build you a mansion.”

Tim eyed the list and shook his head. “No idea what the hell. But ... financials on everyone across the board. Cross reference with any complaints about the department ... as head, Admiral McGee is responsible for all that. And ... that’s about it for starts. l didn’t find anything wrong with the financials of his team ... or him. And there’s been no reprimands or complaints filed against anyone. So that’s a dead end. But ... I wonder ... any unfounded complaints that might cause a problem...” he trailed off as he typed.

Tony shrugged. “I’m headed for coffee. Anyone?” He sniffed himself, realized that they were all still in PT and grumbled. “We all need showers and changes.”

Everyone put up their fair share, No one needed to tell him what they wanted, as they always wanted the same thing. “Got it. I’ll go ask the Admiral and his team if they want something. Everyone take a shower and change by two.” 

Tony hurried through a quick shower and changed into blacks. He went to the conference room, knocked, then stuck his head in the door. Since he was at NCIS, working on NCIS investigations and not on duty, he didn’t need to salute. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m doing a coffee run. Anyone?” He waited while one of the aides wrote down what they wanted and collected the money. “I’ll be back in about twenty ... with luck.”

Admiral McGee cleared his throat. “Um ... I was wondering if it would be proper to invite the group to have lunch with me.”

Tony thought for a moment. “Might have something in. We’re not going anywhere much until we get a handle on this. Tim’s pissed, Gibbs is pissed, I’m pissed. In fact, everyone’s pretty much pissed as hell. I mean ... who the hell does this prick think he is, taking a shot at ... well, just about anyone in the Pod ... or Pod adjacent. That’s you or any member of family or close friends.”

John looked at Tony for a moment then said, “I see. Well, I’m still working on who it might be from my end of things. You find anything?”

“Tim’s runnin’ shit now. I’m Oscar Mike.” He took the paper and money from the aide and shut the door.

Meanwhile Tim was finding a few things of interest, mostly challenged reprimands and objections to negative reports on suppliers. Some of those were vitriolic to say the least. He sighed and rubbed his face. This was the part of investigation that made everyone crazy. It was nit-picky and boring as hell. He actually wished that Tony would pull one of his pranks. As it was, all he could do for now was run searches and read reports. And do his best not to go out of his mind. When he got his hands on this jackwad he was going to hurt him.

Tony returned with a tray of coffees followed by Dean with another. “You’ve got most of the bullpen’s order.” He took a cup and put it on his desk. “That’s mine, and the rest go into the conference room. Before I take it ... who wants lunch in the conference room with the Admiral and his bunch?” Everyone either nodded or raised a hand. “Okay. He’s gonna bring something in.” 

Gibbs stopped him, saying, “Wait a sec. Be sure to let him know to order plenty. I’m down six pounds and Tim’s down eight. I know you’re down nearly eight. Ducky’s in a snit and flat out told me that, if we didn’t put on what we’ve lost, he’s gonna prescribe that nasty pudding stuff for all of us.”

Tony made a gagging noise and trotted off.

Again, he tapped on the door but didn’t wait to be invited in. “Excuse me. Coffee.” He passed out the drinks, easily remembering who ordered what. “Is everything okay?” The three men indicated that it was. “Good. So ... Everyone would be happy to eat with you. That would be ... Dean, Cos, Remy, Jimmy, Ducky, Tim, Gibbs, and me. Maybe Abby.” He grinned. “If she comes, don’t let her put you off. She’s smart and funny. And the only person in the Northern Hemisphere who can kill you, dispose of the body, and leave no forensic evidence. She’s a multiple Ph.D. and published.” 

John glanced at his personal aide. “What the hell was that about?”

The aide shrugged. “In my experience, sir, people as smart as Dr. Sciuto and Special Agent McGee are usually a bit ... eccentric. Some people don’t take that well. Just be prepared to be inundated in geek-speak. And do not get snotty with her.”

“I see.” And John McGee did see. He trusted his aide to keep him from committing a faux pas in nearly any situation; he was ashamed to admit that he needed the man with his own son. “Okay. So ... what do we feed this group?”

The aide smirked, “A whole lot of something. I’ll just go out and take a quick poll.” He saluted, got a return, and left.

.

The aide, Captain Adam Jones, returned with a simple reply. “Anything you like as long as there’s a lot, not Subway, and hot. I think a good bet would be that Mom an’ Pop Italian place down by the river. It’s good, and they’ll send everything in good carry-out pans that we don’t have to worry will fold on us. Salad? Yeah, salad. Lots of garlic toast and ... what to drink?”

The other man shrugged, “I’d suggest letting them get their own. There’s machines down the back hall that have everything from sodas to coffee to juice and tea. Or I could go buy a selection?”

“Go buy a selection. Nothing fruity or artificially sweetened.”

“Yes, sir.” Master Chief Petty Officer Cliff saluted and left to bring back a borrowed half-barrel of ice filled with drinks. He’d managed to convince someone to open the machines for him. He’d found the half-barrel and sneaked into the back of the cafeteria to steal the ice.

“Here’s the drinks. I called in an order while I was dealing with this. I’ve got about fifteen minutes before the order is up, so I better put wheels under it.” 

“Thank you, Master Chief.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” He left after saluting, trotting out the door to go get their food. He just hoped they’d ordered enough.

At the restaurant he was told that he’d need at least twice what he’d ordered the minute he mentioned DiNozzo’s name. The woman had laughed and said, “Oh, no. You feedin’ that mob a’ Mr Tony’s, you need a lot more food. I fix.” And with that she’d called into the back in Italian causing a rush and a bout of laughter. MCPO Cliff just breathed a sigh of relief. He was not happy in his job; the Admiral was an asshole of massive proportions, even his own son wasn’t that fond of him. When the chance presented itself, he was transferring, to anywhere.

He started gathering napkins and plastic flatware but was told, “Don’t bother. We’ll put in everything you need. You got help?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll need it. I came in a car.” He pointed out the window to the Navy issue Toyota.

“Okay, good. I’ll get one of the guys to help you out with all this. You better call back and have one of Mr Tony’s men help you in with it.”

“Thanks. I’ll just call ahead to make sure there’s someone waiting.” MCPO Cliff picked up as many bags as he was sure he could carry and the busboy picked up the rest. They made it to the car easily and put everything in the trunk. “Thanks.” Cliff handed the boy a five, then got into the car and drove away.

He made it through the check point without any trouble and parked near the elevator to make it easier to bring the food in.

Tony and Dean were waiting for him. He got out and handed out bags to each man, taking the last two himself. “There. I hope I ordered enough. There’s two casseroles for each man and triple garlic bread. That bag is all salads, two each.”

Tony sniffed appreciatively. “Did you get chicken farfalle with tomatoes, and that bean casserole with garlic and mozzarella?”

“Yeah. And Spinnetti Di Venezia. And baked ziti. And stuffed shells. And ... well, you’ll see. It’s not all lasagna.” He darted into the elevator and waited for the other two men to get in. “Punch the button will you?”

Dean pushed the button for the right floor.

They off-loaded and headed for the conference room. Gibbs joined them, taking a couple of bags off Dean’s hands. “Smells good.”

.

 

Chapter 3

 

Tony had to grin when he entered the room; Dean and Cos always sat side by side, so Cos was determinedly pushing Remy away from the saved seat. Remy, for his part, was just bugging Cos for the hell of it; he knew good and well that he was going to sit in his usual seat beside Tony. Jimmy was carefully poking at Tim’s bared back and grumbling under his breath. Ducky was watching with an amused smile. Abby was handing out drinks. Admiral McGee and his 2IC were watching with bemused expressions

Jimmy handed Tim his shirt. “Food’s here. Bruises are fading fast. You’re cleared for field duty as of now.”

“Thanks, Gremlin.” he pulled his t-shirt over his head then picked up his shirt. “Smells good. I’m starved.” 

He took his place next to Jimmy, who was seated next to Ducky. Due to the addition of the Admiral and his two aides, the seating was a bit different. Starting at the head of the table was Gibbs; then, on Gibbs’ right, Tony, Remy, Dean, Cos, and Captain Adam Jones. At the foot was the Admiral, who had instructed everyone that, since he was in their territory and he felt it was counterproductive, they should address him as John or sir, and not salute, as they were not on duty with the Navy. On his right was MCPO Cliff, who admitted that he hated his first name and never used it. Then Abby, Tim, Jimmy, and Ducky at Gibbs’ left hand.

All the food was now in the middle of the table, due to Abby’s jumping up to help Cliff put everything out. She’d cheated just a bit and brought up some things from her lab to make serving a bit easier. She’d brought a huge steel bowl and simply dumped all the individual salads into it and tossed them with dressing by emptying all the tiny packets of dressing into it, then flipping them together like flipping stir-fry in a wok. The garlic bread had been put out by opening the packages and putting them at intervals down the middle of the table. The other dishes were all in front of Gibbs.

John raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything. 

Tim took pity on him and explained, “Gibbs serves himself first. Ducky’s usually on his right and gets second. That way they’re sure to get some. We do tend to ... inhale food.”

“I see. If there isn’t enough?”

“We’ll deal. Might send out for some more.” Tim accepted the first pan which contained baked ziti. He took a huge serving, catching the strings of mozzarella with a finger. “Mmmm. Toast, please.” 

John watched the semi-contained chaos created by getting twelve people fed. He made sure that Abby didn’t get pushed aside, although he didn’t need to. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. 

Gibbs grabbed the salad bowl and started it on its way. When it reached her, Abby took some and passed it along, then looked around. “There. And I want my tea. Who the hell snitched my tea?” She glowered around and caught Dean just finishing the bottle off. “Hey! That was mine! And do not say, snoozers, losers, jerk.” Remy just shrugged, made a long arm and handed her another. “Well, okay, then.”

John cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention. “Gentlemen...” 

He didn’t get much farther as Jimmy looked around in mock panic, demanding, “Where!? Where!?” This earned him a swat on the shoulder from Tim.

“Can that. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Gibbs glowered, “Shut it.”

They all turned their attention back to John, who just glowered for a second, then said, “As I was saying ... Anyone have any ideas?”

Tim shook his head. His mouth was full of chicken Alfredo with broccoli and carrots. A chorus of no’s and some head-shaking followed.

Gibbs swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti and meat balls covered in parmesan cheese and said, “The bottom line is ... we got nothing. I’m sending everyone home early ... or down to the gym. We’ll start again tomorrow morning when we’re fresh. There’s something somewhere; we’re just missing it.”

John thought for a moment, then said, “It’s something so obvious that we’re not considering it to be out of the ordinary.”

Tony poked at his salad. “Mmmm. It might be ordinary to one of us ... your group, at least, but it wasn’t ordinary to ... our unsub. So ... what ...”

Captain Jones said, “I think ... Admiral McGee has the power to turn down bids on this project without submitting them higher up. That’s actually his whole job ... to weed out the unrealistic bids before submitting them. So ... who did we turn down ... that had a problem. Look at them.”

Tim nodded. “We thought of that. Nothing pinged. I’ll set up for more searches tomorrow. Maybe a fresh perspective will help.”

They all went back to their food, except for Abby. She had finished while the rest were talking, so she started picking up empties and stuffing them into a big garbage bag. “I wish there was something I could do. If there was some bit of forensic evidence, I’d be all over it. But I’ve already gone over everything with a fine-tooth comb. The bullets were common Winchester .30-.06. Not even a fancy round; just a common hunting round.”

John scowled into his coffee cup. “But that tells us something. Whoever did this isn’t military. I wouldn’t think so, at least. They don’t have access to military arms and didn’t think to buy surplus. So, what does that tell us?”

Tim frowned, “It tells us that it has to be a supplier or provider. So, I’ll go over that list of denied bids ... again. I’m ... If I ... hummm.” he stared at a wall for a bit.

John was just getting ready to snark at him when Gibbs caught his eye and shook his head.

Tim got up and wandered out, mumbling to himself.

Remy allowed, “We really need another attack. If we got dat we get ‘em good.” He waved a hand at John. “Not dat I wan’ ya shot at again, but ... No offense.” He shrugged in that Cajun way of his.

John snorted. “None taken. Where’d Tim go?”

Gibbs thought for a moment. “Back to his desk, most likely. Probably had an idea and went to set up some computer thing or other. Do not get him started, four words into any explanation and I’m so lost I’d need a compass, map, and GPS to find my ass.”

“He’s that good?”

Tony snorted. “Good? Man ... and this goes no farther than that door. Seriously.” All three men nodded. “Good. You fuck up an’ I’ll turn you over to Abby. But ... he hacked the CIA, Homeland, and FBI. Not to mention that he’s got clearance so high that he handles security for the SEAL mainframe. He cracked that in five minutes ... without Abby’s help.”

Abby nodded. “He’s so good it’s actually scary. He got pissed at ... never mind who. Totally erased their e-life. Put it all back 24 hours later without leaving a trace,” she snickered. “He’s almost as good as me.”

Dean snorted. “He’s better than you.”

“Excuse me?”

“No insult intended, but he is.” Dean nodded once as if that settled things.

Abby eyed him for a moment, then grumbled, “Bros befo’ hos. Jerk.”

“It’s not that at all. Just ... after you’ve done the things we’ve done ... well, it’s special.” Dean’s wide-eyed, panicked look made Abby laugh.

“Well, okay, then.” She started to say something, then changed her mind, instead she yelped, “Oh! Oh, darn. I so totally forgot. Here.” She pulled a printout from her purse and handed it to Tony. “Here, AJ.”

Tony took it and opened it to read. “Okay. This is sweet. Thanks Abby.”

Remy grabbed but missed. “Damn it, AJ. Secrets, man.”

“We just got permission from the Coast Guard to resume our swims. Great. All we have to do is call in advance so they know not to rush out to rescue us.” He grinned, hugged Abby, much to her satisfaction, and pulled out his phone. “Three hours to go. I’ll call now. So ... who’s up for a bit of a swim?”

It seemed that everyone was up for a bit of a swim, except for Ducky and Abby. Jimmy called Tim to make sure he was and was informed that he was due a smack down for even asking. Jimmy laughed and hung up on him. “Tim’s in.”

Tony made the call and was told that there would be a twenty-five foot Defender RB-S standing by in twenty. “Okay, guys, we got twenty to hit the water. Fins and snorkels. Go!” They all took off for the locker room at a trot, with Remy dialing Tim to get his ass in gear or get left behind.

John was startled to see Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy head out with the rest. He got up to follow but was stopped by Captain Jones. “We better give them time to change. Besides, if we don’t hurry, all the good spots will be gone. The Barry doesn’t permit rubberneckers aboard just to watch them swim. They do put up a watch at the stern.”

“Very well.” The Admiral put his cover on, indicating that he was ready to go. The three men headed for the dock on MCPO Cliff’s recommendation and arrived just in time to see the Pod leave the locker room back door, trot across an open parking lot, the median between the lot and the boarding ramp/ticket booth of the Barry and onto the rock-covered bank of the Anacostia River. It turned out that the captain of the Barry had politely asked the Pod to stop diving off the dock, as it caused a suicide alarm every time.

Gibbs settled on a rock to put on his fins, followed by the rest of the Pod. “I swear. That watch commander aboard the Barry is an old woman. Seriously ... eight guys dive off the damn dock and someone yells suicide? When, if ever, have more than two or three committed suicide at one time?”

Dean shook his head as he put on his fins. “Don’t know. Outside of mass religious suicide ... never. Oh, look. They sent three men.” He pointed to the Defender RB-S that was cruising up at about five knots. “Sweet.”

Tony led the way, followed by Remy, then Dean and Cos, Jimmy, and Tim; Gibbs brought up the rear. 

Tim took a deep breath and submerged, Tony wanted them to swim as far as they could on one breath before using their snorkels. No one had any idea how he knew how far they went but he did, and he’d call them on slacking, saying, “I’ve only got eighty five per cent capacity and I can stay under for ... like ... six minutes swimming, longer if I’m just down. So ... suck it up, SEAL.” and they did.

It wasn’t long before most of the observers lost sight of the Pod, as they were all underwater. Admiral McGee was not one of them, mostly due to MCPO Cliff, who could point out the small V’s of white water caused by the tube of the snorkel. He was interested to see that the swimmers made a tight, staggered group of three and three with one swimmer seeming to be undecided as to where he was going.

“What the hell is that one man doing?”

“Sir, that’s AJ DiNozzo. He’s their CO, so I assume he’s keeping track of who’s where and checking to see if anyone is in trouble.”

“Ah!” The Admiral nodded his understanding and went back to observing.

.

Tony stopped swimming just long enough to check his group. Tim was doing well, but his mask was filling up with water. This was not a good thing in that, if he forgot and breathed in through his nose, he’d have a snoot full of water. He blocked Tim who looked at him. He tapped his mask and signed in ASL, “Empty that.” Tim nodded, emptied his mask, and returned to swimming. 

Remy and Cos were neck-and-neck, moving smoothly and silently. Tony nodded to both of them and moved on.

Dean and Jimmy were flanking Gibbs so that he wasn’t swimming alone. All three of them were swimming strongly, so Tony drifted to the back of the pod to watch. The water was a bit cloudy, but he could see silhouettes, and that was good enough.

The Defender paced them, one of the crewmen keeping track of the snorkels with binoculars. It was easy to see the small V’s of disturbed water from the boat.

They made the other side in good time and waddled out onto the bank for a quick discussion. “Okay. Tim, make sure to keep your mask empty; you breathe in a mask of water, you’re not gonna be a happy SEAL. Jimmy, you and Dean did good. No one swims alone, so I’m pleased that you paced Jet.” Gibbs nodded his thanks, but kept silent. “Remy, Cos, good work. We did good. It’s right at a half-mile across here, so we did about three knots. That’s some good swimming in this river. Let’s head back.” He started back into the water, calling over his shoulder, “Surface, this time. And push it. I want you to average at least four knots.” And with that, he surface-dived, then came up and began to swim toward the dock. 

Everyone grumbled a bit, but followed easily enough. 

The swim back was easier for the observers; the Pod were all just under the surface rather than as deep as the snorkel would allow. They showed up well against the deep, dark river. The flickering, wavering forms cut the waves easily, and the swim back was accomplished at the four-knot speed that Tony had demanded. 

They waded out of the river about a hundred yards down from the Barry, at the end of Patterson Ave. They were met by a small group of off-duty Marines who made a habit of looking for them. The Marines handed out towels, drinks, and criticisms. 

“Thanks, guys. You’re all hired.” Tony rubbed his short Ivy League with a towel. “Get yourselves a pizza. Send me the bill.”

One of the young Marines replied, “You don’t have to do that, sir. Our pleasure.”

Tony grinned at them all. “I don’t generally do what I have to do. I push it off on one of those poor fools.” He indicated his teammates with a nod. “I want to.” 

“Well, in that case, thank you, sir.” The young man gathered up the towels that Tony had used and trotted off to his buddies. It didn’t take them long to gather their stuff, including the drink bottles and related trash, and decide on pizzas. The team lead returned to Tony. “Okay. Here’s what we want.” It was only seconds and Tony was authorizing payment to the nearest pizza place. “There. The order is in at Mama Cozetti’s; the pies will be done in thirty. Better get a move on.” 

The young men saluted and headed out. Gibbs nodded. “Good men. Some of those young men will make good CO’s.”

Tony nodded. “That they will. I’ve called their CO. He’s putting a note in all their jackets.”

“Good.”

The Admiral and his men drove up in an SUV. No one had any idea where they got it, and it drove away at once. “I’ll walk with you.”

Tony glanced at Tim, who just shrugged, then said, “Keep up.”

It seemed that the admiral and his men were in the same shape as most middle-aged bureaucrats, not to mention the inappropriateness of their shoes and clothing; they were panting in seconds. They dropped to a normal walking pace and followed the Pod.

Tim glanced back once, then faced forward. Tony was pacing him and noticed. “What do you think he wants? Really.”

“I don’t know for sure, but ... he’s seen me run the Spartan, he’s had someone in his team checking up on me. My take? He’s realized that I’m not some useless geek and he wants to ... make amends? Get on my good side? Not that sure ... and I really don’t care. We’ll have a ... nice relationship but I’m not trusting him just yet.”

Tony nodded. “Just didn’t want you to get your heart broken. Been there.”

“Thanks.”

Tony trotted up the line to pace Gibbs. “Any idea what the hell that idiot, John McGee, is up to?”

“Nope. Not even sure he knows. We’ll just hang and be ready to pick up the pieces.”

“Okay. Good enough ... I guess.” Tony looked doubtful.

Remy had overheard, so he dropped back to run on the other side of Tony. “AJ, we family. We got his six. It all be fine.”

.

 

They reached NCIS and headed into the locker room to shower and dress. 

Tony nodded to Remy. “We did good. I like the times and ...” he smiled at Gibbs a bit absently. “Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy are all BAMFs. Wouldn’t worry about having any of them on my six.”

Remy threw a t-shirt and hit Tony in the face. “Me neither. Gibbs is tough as an old boot. Jimmy just ... man’s a machine. And Tim ... I swear I don’t know what his ol’ man was ever thinkin’.”

Gibbs joined the conversation. “Man is well aware he threw away flesh and blood. He’s tryin’ to make amends as best he can ... Don’t think it’s gonna work the way he thinks.”

Dean joined in. “Digimon will forgive him ... he’s that way. But he’ll never forget and won’t give him a chance to ... repeat the offense. If you get my meaning. He’ll always be a bit reserved.”

Cos agreed. “Yeah, exactly. Oops ... here he comes.”

Tim walked out of the showers just then, a lava-lava wrapped around his waist, rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked up, assumed that they were staring at his wrap, and demanded, “What? Abby gave it to me. It’s considered very com il faut in Oceania.”

The whole Pod eyed the length of cloth; finally Jimmy offered, “But ... dude ... it’s fuckin’ pink!”

Tim looked down then offered. “Not entirely. It’s ... well, orange and teal too.”

This brought about a barrage of rolled socks, wet towels and other soft projectiles. “Well, it is! Jerks.” Tim turned his back to them and started rummaging in his locker for clean clothing. “Damn. I swear, I go through more fuckin’ stuff.” He finally found a semi-clean pair of jeans and a shirt. He swore as the shirt didn’t pass the sniff test. “I’ve got to restock my ruck. This is ridiculous. Anyone have a clean shirt I can mooch?”

Dean wadded up a henley and tossed it at Tim. “Here. It’s too small for me, so you can keep it.”

Tim tugged the shirt on over his head then said, “Thanks.” He smoothed it out over his chest. “It fits ... a bit snug but ... meh.”

They all finished dressing, winding up in some variation of BDU’s.

Gibbs took charge. “Okay. Let’s all head for the bullpen for a bit. Wind up anything we’ve got going, check paperwork, and then get out of here.” On the way up the stairs he told Tim, “Tim, you know I’m havin’ burgers and dogs; invite your dad if you want. Tell ‘im to leave the staff behind.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jet. Really appreciate that.” Tim frowned slightly, wondering how this was going to go over.

Remy patted him on the shoulder. “Do’an worry. We get ‘long wit ‘im. We all off duty so it be okay.” He grinned, then trotted off to check for mail of any kind from his contacts.

They split up to go to their desks and settled in to finish the day; no one was pleased to see Admiral McGee stride up with his two satellites. “Timothy, well done. What are you doing now?”

Tim didn’t bother to look up from his typing as he answered, “Checking results, emails, and some other bits and pieces.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The Admiral didn’t seem to be able to stop poking the bear.

“I know what you look like and this is important. We’re still looking for our shooter. Sit down somewhere and decide if you want to come to Gibbs’ place for burgers and dogs. Sorry, guys ...” He glanced at Captain Adam Jones and Master Chief Petty Officer Cliff. “You’re not invited. Bonding time.”

Captain Jones showed every sign of relief. “That’s okay. I’m sure my wife will enjoy having me home on time ...” he glanced at the admiral. “For once.”

MCPO Cliff just shrugged. “Family time is good. My fiancée will approve.”

McGee just nodded. “I’ll be there. What time?”

Gibbs shrugged. “We eat at 1800. Casual dress.”

The Admiral returned to watching his son do mysterious things to his computer. He noticed that Tim had as many monitors as Gibbs did. He was a bit surprised to realize that Tim actually kept track of three at one time while the others were on static display until they were needed. He finally settled at the guest desk to watch everyone.

He realized that the three SEALs, Cale, Devereaux, and Richter were working alongside the NCIS team. He started to say something, but decided not to question it, as it was obvious that Gibbs had accepted their presence. He watched until Captain Jones cleared his throat. “Sir, you’ve got a meeting in thirty.”

“Cancel it. I’m invited to supper and ...” he glanced at his watch. “I need to go home to shower and change.” He stood up and headed for the elevators with his men in tow.

Tim glanced up, shook his head and mumbled, “Real considerate there, dude. Seriously.”

Suddenly Tony exclaimed, “Ha! Got your ass. Som’bitch.”

Gibbs eased back in his chair. “Okay. Spill.”

“Well, I got to thinking. We were wondering if it might be something he didn’t do that caused this. But it’s a bit of both. He’s responsible for oversight on this project. And doing a damn good job, actually. But ... he rejected some concrete as having too much sand. Someone actually called him down to show him. The provider was cutting corners like, whoa. So ... it was within spec, but just barely. Admiral McGee rejected it and changed providers, saying that one was playing loosey-goosey too much. Too many shipments of materials were just barely within specs. The company went bankrupt.”

Gibbs nodded. “So someone got their nose out of joint and took a potshot at our admiral. But who?”

“There’s three possibilities. One is the son of the senior partner. Two is the silent partner. And three is the senior partner himself. Tim, I sent the name to you ... Do your magic.”

Tim opened the email and did his thing. It didn’t take long to run financials, find their people, and compile his presentation. 

“Okay. Everyone. We have the son, name of James Rosewood, Jr.; he’s not our perp. His alibi is ironclad; he’s in Africa on a humanitarian mission with some nut-and-berry group. Been gone for six months. The Senior Partner, James Rosewood, Sr. And what the hell is it with people and this Jr./Sr. thing?”

Tony shrugged, then interjected, “No idea, but it’s real popular with a certain class. I actually went to RIMA with a poor sap named Beauford Alexander Clement Goodbody the Fifth. Seriously ... even the nerds and geeks made fun of him.”

Everyone groaned at that, then returned to Tim’s presentation. He clicked his remote. “Mr. Rosewood Sr. is also out of the picture, as he’s in a wheelchair and has been since the collapse of a parking garage about three years ago. So that leaves the junior partner, Maximillian Franklin, as our most likely suspect. He’s been in almost complete control of the company since the accident. Mr. Rosewood Sr. works from home, but he mostly does bids and estimates. Which, in my opinion, is the main problem with the whole arrangement. He’s out of touch with costs, and his cost projections are way off the mark. So Mr. Franklin was most likely trying to close the gap by cutting corners. Who we sending to pick him up?”

Gibbs nodded to Remy. “AJ and Remy. Go.” He smirked at Remy. “And bring ‘im in alive, please.”

Remy just gave Gibbs the finger. “Jerk.”

Tony poked Remy, “Come on. I want to get this over with before we miss out on burgers and dogs.”

Remy gave Tony a horrified look. “Non, ami. We no miss dat. Allons-y.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They trotted out together, shoulder to shoulder

Gibbs watched them leave, then turned to Tim. “Don’t worry, we won’t stand your Dad up.”

Tim snorted. “Serve him right for all the times he stood me up. Spelling bee ... I won. He had a last-minute something with some Senator or other. High-school graduation ... I was fifteen ... Summa Cum Laude ... he was deployed, so yeah, but he didn’t even send me a card. Graduated from MIT ... not the Naval Academy. Johns-Hopkins ... still not Naval Academy. So ... If we have to stand him up, at least I’ll call him.”

Gibbs couldn’t help but wince. “Ouch. Man’s a ... No offense.”

“He’s a bad parent. I’m sure he thinks he’s a good one. And I’ll admit that he’s a good husband and a good man ... it’s just ... his priorities are skewed. Navy or nothing. Don’t worry about it. I love him ... I do. But I don’t trust him much. Something else will always be more important than me. Mom saw it but didn’t know what to do about it. Penny saw it and did the best she could. I know she’s the one who paid for my graduation car. So ... “ Tim turned his attention to getting his print-outs done.

Gibbs left it alone. 

.

Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to have a warrant to bring someone in for questioning. If you hold them for more than 48 hours, you have to get a warrant. So Tony and Remy drove to the address that Tim had given them

The house was in an obviously expensive neighborhood and looked to be in the 1.5 mil class. The car parked in the driveway was a BMW Series 7, an Alpina B7 xDrive, which started at $138,000, and this one was loaded.

Tony nodded. “Man’s gonna lawyer up before we even get back to the Yard.”

“True, too true. Sad.” Remy eyed the house with some misgivings. “Are we even gonna get in the door?”

“We’ll see. If we have to get a warrant just to pick him up ... well, I’m gonna be seriously pissed off.”

They walked up to the door and Remy knocked. The door was opened by a maid, Hispanic, older and dignified. “How can I help you?” She held the door closed with her hip and foot until she saw Tony’s badge. “Something wrong?”

“We need to speak with Mr. Franklin. Is he at home?”

“No. He went in to the office to finish some paperwork. You can come back later, or give me a number where you can be reached.” She waited patiently as Tony fished a card out of his badge wallet. He gave it to her with a slight smile. “Thank you ... Letcom? Sir?”

Tony realized that the string of letters before his name had confused her, not that unusual. “Lieutenant Commander Anthony Jethro DiNozzo, Special Agent NCIS ... Naval Criminal Investigative Service.”

“I see.” She politely but firmly shut the door in their faces.

“Well, that was a wash. Now what?” Remy led the way back to the car.

“Now we call for a warrant and see if we can’t get a search warrant for house, outbuildings, and any vehicle he owns. Wonder if he’s rabbitted.”

Remy was dialing his phone as he said, “I think we need a warrant now. I got ... a crawling on my neck.”

“Me too.”

Remy spoke with Gibbs, who agreed they needed a warrant. He told them to go to the office and wait, told them the address, and hung up.

Gibbs went to Vance, who called a judge and presented their evidence. Admittedly it was a bit scant, but the judge felt there was enough to issue a warrant for the man, his car, and his house. He was retired Navy and very sympathetic to NCIS.

They got the warrants printed out, and Vance organized a three-pronged attack, sending one crew to search the house, another to find and bring in every vehicle with Mr. Franklin’s name on it, and Gibbs’ team to arrest Mr. Franklin. Vance eyed his watch. “If you want to make it home in time to eat at 1800, you’d better put wheels under it.” He grinned at the startled looks he got. “You know I know everything worth knowing about everything going on in NCIS. Go.”

Gibbs just headed for the door. “Oscar Mike. You squids keep up.”

Tim exclaimed, “Hey!” and got a swat in the shoulder from Dean.

“Suck it up, you know you love it.”

So, Dean, Cos, Tim, and Gibbs joined Tony and Remy in front of the office building where Franklin had offices. Gibbs waved the paper in the air, announcing, “Warrant.”

They entered the building, flashed their badges at the elderly security man, and barged right into Franklin’s offices. “NCIS. Where’s Franklin’s office?”

The guard pointed, then fled the scene; he wasn’t about to stick around for the disaster that was bearing down on Franklin.

Mr. Franklin’s secretary tried to stop them, but Dean just took her by one arm and put her back in her chair. “You sit. Stay out of the line of fire ... figuratively speaking. Do not try to interfere; you don’t want to be charged with interfering with a Federal Officer.” He patted her shoulder, then hurried to catch up.

While Dean had been corralling the secretary, the rest of the group had just walked into Franklin’s office.

He jumped up and asked, “Who do you think you are? You can’t just barge in here like that.”

Tony snorted as Gibbs answered, “NCIS. Special Agent and Team Lead LJ Gibbs. You’re under arrest ... suspicion of attempted murder.” He didn’t bother to tell the man to put his hands behind his back, he just grabbed a wrist and had Franklin handcuffed in no time.

Then he got a good look at the office; it was covered with mounted heads. There were deer, antelope, a coyote, several turkeys, and a moose. He snorted softly. He was well aware that this sort of guy was a sport hunter in name only. The poor beasts had most likely been penned, like shooting fish in a barrel; expensive and childish.

But, it did prove that he thought he had the skills to pull off an assassination.

He immediately began sputtering threats, demanding that they let him go, and swearing.

No one paid any attention to him; instead, Dean and Cos dragged him out of the office and stuffed him into a car. They got in and headed for NCIS. The rest of the Pod stayed in the office and began searching it. Gibbs made a small sound and held up a rifle. “I got it.”

The rest of the search was left up to the CSI team to complete, as was the search of the vehicles and home. The only reason the MCRT ever searched anything themselves was when they were working an active crime scene, and even then they left a lot up to the techs. They were capable of doing the job, and having investigators tied up with grunt work was a waste of resources. Tony had finally managed to convince Gibbs of that by flatly refusing to waste Tim’s time, or his, on picking up cigarette butts and coffee cups.

Tony had a quick word with the Team Lead, then trotted after the rest of the Pod. They drove back to the Yard in two SUV’s; one of the NCIS mid-size SUV’s just wasn’t adequate for six men of their size. Gibbs was the smallest at six feet even and a respectable 180 pounds. Cosmo was the tallest at 6’4” and 200 pounds. The real problem was, they all had broad shoulders, and trying to put three men in the front, never mind that it was bucket seats, wasn’t going to work. So Tim, Gibbs, and Tony took one while Remy, Dean, and Cos took the other. Remy was finally over his obsessive need to stay close to Tony.

When they got back, Gibbs did something he rarely did: he turned the interview over to Balboa. When asked why, he said, “He’s one of those sorts who has to have the best of everything, all the time. Now, I’m not sayin’ that you’re second best, but he’ll think so. So ... he’s gonna be pissed off over getting arrested, and then he finds out that the ‘second string’ ...” he made air quotes, “is questioning him. That’ll make him run his mouth. Good luck, man.” He smirked, “Not that you need it.”

Balboa nodded, he appreciated the opportunity to bring in a closure, especially since Gibbs was notoriously stingy with them. “Okay. Thanks. You go off and do whatever it is you need to. If I need you, I’ll call.”

While Gibbs had been making his arrangements, Tim and Tony were happily overturning them.

.

Tim slouched at his desk, looking pissed.

Tony eyed his friend for a moment, then asked, “Okay, man, what’s got your shorts in a knot?”

“You know how long this is going to take? My father stood me up all the time. I don’t want to do him the same.” 

“Okay. You print out ... our proof, and I’ll squeeze that jerk like a fuckin’ lemon.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll back you up.”

Tony grinned without humor. “No. Sorry; Remy.” Remy looked up at the mention of his name. “You’ll back me up. Tim, observation with Dean and Cos. I want you two to watch and learn.”

Dean and Cos objected to this strenuously, but Tony glowered them down. Dean whined, “But, AJ, how are we supposed to get any experience if you won’t let us work?”

“Not this time. I want in and out in twenty so we don’t stand Tim’s father up.”

That shut them both up as they realized that they were coming close to 1600 and still had to set up the grill.

It wasn’t long before Mr. Maximillian Franklin was facing something he didn’t, couldn’t, understand: people who weren’t the least bit impressed with him.

The second Tony entered the room, he started making demands. Tony let him rant for a few minutes; he might actually let something worthwhile drop. Most of the sputtering was demands: “who do you think you are;” “do you know who I am;” and a few more of what Tony called the standards. He listened for a moment, then said, “Well, Max― I can call you Max, right? Anyway ... Someone took a couple of pot shots at Admiral McGee, hitting his son Special Agent Timothy McGee instead. Now, there are only a few people who fit all our parameters, and you’re the only one in possession of a Winchester .30-.06. So ... you wanna tell me all? Or do I have to get creative?”

Max sneered and said, “I prefer Mr. Franklin. I am the CEO of a major corporation. But go ahead and get ... creative.”

“Okay. So ... here’s this ...” he slapped a picture down on the table. “And this ...” another picture. “And this ...” yet another. “You starting to see a pattern?” Several more pictures followed. “I am. You’re a cheat and a corner-cutting cumstain. People got hurt in several of those accidents. Only we’re not calling them accidents, we’re calling them attempted murder. And your little experiment in ballistics ... assassination. I’m seriously considering just arranging a little trip to Gitmo.” Tony watched Franklin for a moment; he was already sweating.

Remy eyed the man like he wanted to eat him. “Too bad we can’t do him like we do at SERE. He’d scream like a girl and babble like a runnin’ brook. But ...” 

Tony eyed Remy for a moment then shook his head, looking a bit frantic. “No ... just no. We can’t do that. I’ll get fired ...” he continued in a plaintive tone. “I like my job.”

Franklin began to look really worried. “What do you do in SERE? And what’s that, anyway?”

This was just what Tony and Remy were waiting for.

Tony frowned, “Well, see, some of the trainers are more ... inventive than others. Some just go with the kick ‘em in the balls ‘till they puke. Others will tie their subject up in various ways. One favorite is to tie each ankle to the thigh then make the guy sit on the floor with his butt flat on the floor. That splays the feet out to the side. Then they tie his neck to his belt and his hands behind his back. Then they jack his arms up by tying his wrists to a hook near the ceiling. You can make a strong man cry in ten minutes.”

Remy took up the tale. “An’ den there’s old standards like water boardin’ and strappado. The first drop ain’t so bad, but by the third or fourth your shoulders are dislocated. Then there’s semi-strangulation. Tie a guy to the rafters on tip-toe and just leave ‘em. Legs get tired and he wants to drop his heels, but that half chokes him. God forbid you fall over.”

Tony nodded. “But we can’t do any of that. I’ll get fired.”

Remy just shrugged, “Suck it up, buttercup, I don’t care.”

Tony announced, “By the way, SERE training is Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape.”

Remy eyed Tony then said, “An’ how many actually escape?”

“Um ... two?”

By now Max was hanging on by a thread, psychologically speaking. He opened his mouth, closed it, breathed heavily then tried again. “I’ll talk. I swear ... all I wanted to do was scare him. I sent him an email and ... when he didn’t do what I told him to ... I took a pot shot at him. I didn’t know that other guy would get in the way. Then...” he looked like he was about to faint. “The damn thing went off a second time. I ... I mean. Oh, my God.” 

Tony dropped a pen and yellow legal pad on the table. “Write it all down and sign it. And get a move on. We’re getting out of here on time for once and ... I swear, if we’re late ... you won’t like it.” Tony leaned down and breathed right in Max’s face. “See. I really hold a grudge against someone who shoots a member of my team. Either team. Jerk.”

Max started scribbling frantically, writing down what he’d done, why he’d done it, and adding details of his private life that no one was interested in. By the time his lawyer showed up, called by his housekeeper when he failed to return on time, he’d incriminated himself on several counts of fraud, supplying defective or inadequate/non-spec materials, kickbacks, and bribery… not to mention the attempted assassination.

The lawyer was furious to find out that not only was the confession not coerced and was already on file with JAG, the local Prosecuting Attorney, and several other federal agencies, but his client was on the way to DCPD to be locked up until his preliminary hearing. 

Vance smirked at him and offered him a toothpick, saying, “Like one? They’re mint today. Really relieves stress.” The lawyer glared at him. “No? Okay. Then I suggest you get your ass out of my building. Good day.” 

.

An hour later everyone was gathered in Gibbs’ back yard, including Jimmy and Ducky; Abby had been invited but begged off to see Junkyard Rejects.

Gibbs started the grill, then announced, “It’s charcoal tonight, so it’ll be about an hour before I can even start cooking. AJ, make patties. Someone peel onions, please.”

Tony took over the meat at once, while Remy picked up the bag of onions and settled at the picnic table to peel them. Tim joined him to slice them as they were peeled.

There was a bit of the usual banter and name-calling. Gibbs had to call them to order once; Tim and Dean were getting a bit too rough with knives in hand. They both settled back to their tasks, Dean on what they called “tater patrol” with some help from Jimmy.

They were laughing when Admiral McGee walked around the house. “I rang, but I heard you laughing, so I came around. I hope that’s okay.”

Gibbs nodded to a lawn chair. “Have a seat.”

“Does anyone need any help?” John was determined to make a good impression. Penny had raked him over the coals for twenty years over the way he’d treated Tim. He now realized that most of their problems were his fault, and he was ready to admit it. 

Tony eyed the preparations. “No, thank you, sir, we’ve got it well in hand.”

“No ‘sir’ here. We’re all off duty. I’m just John.” John noted that Tim looked pleased by this.

John settled on a chair to watch the group get ready. 

Tony was still patting burgers into shape, placing them on a tray as he did so. John noticed that he wet his hands between each one and wondered why. “Tim?” Tim looked over. “Why is he wetting his hands?” John nodded in Tony’s direction.

“Don’no; he just does.” Tim turned around and watched for a second before yelling, “Hey! AJ! What’s with the wet your hands thing?”

Tony waved slightly greasy hands at him. “Keeps the meat from sticking. I still need to wipe them off when they get too greasy, but it really helps.”

“Thanks.” Tim turned back to John. “And now we both know. An’ I’ll warn ya ... just to be on the safe side ... do not play darts with AJ. Poker with Dean. Or shoot against Jet or AJ.”

Gibbs interjected. “Or you. At least with a side arm. You can’t shoot worth shit with a long arm, but anything else and I wanna be on your side.” He turned his head. “Someone put the fries in.” Jimmy nodded and put the three trays of potatoes in the hot smoker.

Tim laughed. “Well, I don’t see the use ... never mind that; I just don’t have that skill set. If we need someone sniped, you’re our man. I’m good with short- and mid-range weapons and have all the skills needed to do effective flash/bang and enter. And, of course, there are my world-shatteringly exceptional computer skills.” He ducked a tennis ball and some sort of mangled Nerf ball. “Asshats. All of you, asshats. Jealous ones.”

This led to Dean and Cos jumping him and dragging him onto the grassy middle of the yard. “Gang up! Gang up!”

Tim swore at them, half laughing, half pissed. “Damn it! Get off me. Jerks.”

Dean grabbed Tim by the wrist, trying for an arm brace; it didn’t work, as Tim eeled out of his grasp and bent over to grab his ankle. When he straightened up he put Dean off balance by holding his ankle as high as he could. Dean squawked and fell on his ass. Cos made a grab for a head lock and found himself in one instead. Tim gave him a Dutch Rub, then jammed a shoulder into his stomach. Cos swore as Tim got him in a fireman’s carry and started hopping in place. 

“Digimon, damn it, I’ll puke down your neck. Put me down, jerk.”

Everyone else was laughing at their antics until Gibbs called them to order. “Tim, put Cos down. If he pukes on you you’re not using my shower.”

Remy yelled, “Hose for you, homme. An’ dat cold as a witch’s heart.”

Tim dropped Cos and gave Remy the finger. Remy just chuckled, “Non, ami, yo too ugly.”

Gibbs mostly ignored the carrying on and busied himself with putting the burgers on the grill. “Burgers are on. Dogs in five. Get the table set. John, you could go to the kitchen and help carry out things.”

John didn’t take offense; Penny always said he was too aware of his rank for his own good, so he was really trying to lighten up. He was fairly successful. 

When he reached the kitchen, Remy was already putting things onto the small table by the door. He glanced around the kitchen, then did a double-take. The table in the middle of the room was made of exotic woods with craftsmanship that indicated a master’s hand. “Nice table.”

Remy nodded, handing him a bowl as he did so. “Dat it is. Jet made it. He got such a hand wit’ wood. Amazin’”

“Gibbs made that?”

“Did do.” Remy handed a basket lined with paper towels to Dean. “Fo’ de fries.”

John took the hint and went out with the bowl. He put it in the middle of the table then turned back for another. Tim followed him to start bringing out the buns, condiments, and the rest of the salads.

When they had everything on the table, Gibbs pointed to the foot of the table. “John, sit there. The rest of you yahoos, sit it.” Everyone scrambled for their usual places. 

John realized that the spot he was in actually belonged to someone. “Whose place am I sitting in?”

Tim smiled. “Ducky’s. He’s playing bridge tonight. Championships. I hope he brings in the card.”

“Brings in the card?” John looked at the huge piles of food and wondered how much would actually be left. He’d already noticed that every man had two dogs and two burgers on a huge glass plate. “And why is everyone eating off a trencher?”

Tony chuckled and answered that first. “We all eat like two football players so we gave up on regular plates. Ducky found these at Dollar General. They’re service liners. You’re supposed to put plates on them. Keeps the linens clean.”

Dean answered the first question. “The Bridge League of DC gives out trophies shaped like a playing card. An ace of Spades, if I’m not mistaken. The usual gold, silver, and bronze. So they say they brought in a card if they win, place, or show.”

“I see.” John realized that he felt exceptionally awkward. He didn’t really know these men and didn’t relate to them very well. He knew they were all uncomfortable as well. He decided to keep his attempts to reconcile with Tim more private from now on; but he did think he’d made a bit of headway.

Tim was of the same opinion; he watched as his father tried to make conversation with his friends, but he was too aware of his rank and too unaware of social conventions among lower ranks off duty. He was ADMINISTRATION, in capital letters, and everyone else was subordinate, in lower case. While, with the Pod, everyone was equal, period. They obeyed orders from Gibbs and Tony because they had earned the respect needed to make any order reasonable, no matter how odd it seemed.

John noted how much Tim was eating and remarked, “Maybe you should take it a bit easy there. You always had a tendency to be a bit chubby.”

Tim just helped himself to another burger before he replied, “Out-grew that before I was twelve. Ducky’s on me about my diet already. He wants me eating 3500 calories or more a day. I’ve lost ten pounds in the last month.”

Tony took up the defense, “Ten pounds that you can’t afford to lose. Eat!” He plopped a spoonful of baked beans onto his plate.

Tim nodded thanks, as his mouth was now full of slaw. 

John subsided, flushing a bit.

Gibbs took pity on the man and changed the subject. “Cleanup is me, Remy, and Tim. The rest of you police the yard. Admiral, we’ll be done in about thirty. You can hang or do ...” he waved a hand, “whatever. No one’ll care.”

John decided to go ahead and leave; the awkwardness was really getting to him. “I think I’ll leave. I did promise to call Penny tonight, and ... I’m not sure how the times line up.”

Tim shrugged. “That’s too bad ... that you need to leave already. Where is she?”

“Vienna.”

“Which Vienna?” John gave Tim an odd look. “There’s a Vienna or New Vienna in twelve states. Actually, Ohio has Vienna, New Vienna, and South Vienna. So I’m assuming you mean Austria. But it’s one a.m. there, right now so ... Suit yourself. Wouldn’t put it past her to be up. If you’re leaving, I’ll walk you out.”

“I think I should.” John turned to walk out with Tim by his side.

Tim ambled along, taking his time, hoping that his father didn’t feel like he was trying to hustle him out the door. John paced him.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you have true friends. I always worried about that.”

“I’m fine. AJ’s ... always got my six. Remy’s his bud and 2IC. Dean and Cos ... they’re part of the Pod. Gibbs is my boss and good friend. And there’s Jimmy and Ducky, and Abby. I’d name off a few more but ... this bunch is my family. Not blood, but family I chose.” Tim ruffled his Short Ivy League. “Father ... what do you want?”

“Well, short and to the point. I like that. I ... I’ve always intended to be a good father but ... first I was deployed more than I was ashore. Then ... well, you didn’t live up to my expectations and I didn’t realize that it was way too late to try to force you into a mold ... one that you didn’t fit anyway. So ... I’m hoping that we can have ... a cordial relationship. If you’re interested, that is.”

Tim nodded. “I am. It’s going to be a bit hard. You’re busy and so am I. But I’d like to try to get together whenever you’re not busy and I don’t have a case. All we can do is try.”

John offered Tim his hand, which Tim shook. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your friends. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Father.” Tim watched as his father ―he’d never think of him as dad― got into his car and drove off. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”

Gibbs’ voice from behind him didn’t even make him flinch. “Nope, not at all.” Gibbs patted Tim’s shoulder. “Let’s get back. You’ve got chores.”

So Tim turned around and headed back to the comfort of his chosen family.


End file.
